Kiss and Make Better
by ficlit78
Summary: COMPLETE! Post Red Sauce. Grace feels bad about tasering Rigsby and takes him out for a beer. Tipsy Grace plus Rigsby in track suit equals hot stuff. Total smuffy Grigsby.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: Post Red Sauce. I couldn't watch Rigsby get tasered and dressed up like a thug and not write about it. I own nothing but a television and a filthy imagination.

**Chapter One **

Excellent. Rigsby was more than pleased as he finished up the last piece of paperwork on their most recent suspect and he was feeling pretty good about it. Granted, it had involved the usual shenanigans from Jane that usually got them all an earful from Lisbon, but the cop in him was always satisfied when they got their man. Or jilted wife of a gangster-turned-snitch, as the case turned out.

He signed his name to the bottom of the report and set his pen down, flexing his hand and rubbing it lightly. He hadn't let on earlier, but Van Pelt's taser had stung pretty badly, leaving twin pinpoints of burned skin on his hand where the electricity had passed into his body. His massage didn't help either. It only angered his singed nerves and they yelled at him to stop touching them and leave them the hell alone. He sighed, dropped his hand and stood up, stretching his arms over his head. He hadn't bothered to change when he got back to the office after his little hit man performance and his track suit made soft swishy noises as he moved. He lifted his head and noticed Van Pelt standing in the office doorframe, watching him with a small smile on her lips.

He smiled back as he lowered his arms. "How long have you been standing there?" he asked her.

"Just long enough for to you to nurse your hand like a kicked puppy," she answered with a smirk.

He gave her an injured pout. "Hey! It hurts okay? I'd expect a bit more sympathy from the inflictor."

She giggled and walked up to him. He noticed that her eyes moved briefly over his body, as though noting how these different clothes accented his muscles more than his suits did. He also noticed (as he'd been doing all day) that she looked damned hot in her tan skirt and tight tee shirt under her jacket. But he kept that observation to his peripherals and didn't let his eyes move past hers.

She leaned on his desk next to him and bumped his arm playfully with hers. "I told you I was sorry. And you said you were fine," she gave him a mock serious look as she peeked up into his eyes. He bumped her back gently. "Yeah, well. Two thousand volts still smarts, lady." He held up his hand and showed her the tiny burn marks.

Her smile retreated a bit when she saw the marks. She took his hand in both of hers and inspected it more closely. When she looked back up at him, her expression was more contrite. "I'm sorry, Wayne. I really didn't mean to."

He smiled. How could he not? She was holding his hand and apologizing to him for doing her job. She'd have to commit a far worse offense for him to ever be angry with her. Like destroy a small country. "I'm fine, Grace. I've had much worse."

She smiled gratefully at him and, to his shock, she brought the back of his hand to her lips and kissed it. His injury, which normally would have shrieked at any pressure, seemed to magically heal under her kiss. Her lips were so soft and warm that his imagination instantly extrapolated what it would feel like if they kissed him everywhere. _Everywhere_. She kept it light and chaste, and Rigsby died a little when she pulled his hand away and looked at him expectantly. "All better?" she asked him. He felt like a small child getting his boo-boo kissed by a smokin' hot nurse. He nodded mutely.

She smiled again. "Good. Come on, get your stuff. I'm taking you out for a beer. It's the least I can do since I maimed you."

The hot, tingling sensation where her lips had touched him was slowly moving into his fingers and wrist. It didn't hurt, but it was a hell of a lot stronger than the shock he'd gotten earlier. He cleared his throat. The gentleman in him wanted to decline her offer, insisting that she didn't need to buy him a drink for a tiny little sting, but Grace had never asked him out before, and even if it was just atonement, he wasn't an idiot. He looked down at his clothes. "Sounds good. But I need to change first."

Another shock, Grace shook her head. "Don't. I kinda like this thug look on you," her eyes dropped momentarily. Was she _embarrassed_? She brought her eyes back to his. "We'll just go to a dive."

Grace had no idea what possessed her to ask Rigsby out. She'd come back from the kitchen and couldn't help but watch as he smiled to himself while finishing the case file. Then she saw him tend the hand she had tasered and her heart melted a little. She knew it must have hurt when she zapped him accidentally, but he'd brushed off her concerns and went about the day with no complaints. She should have known better. He might be a sweetheart, but he was also a macho man who didn't whine when wounded. She wanted to make it up to him, hence the offer of free booze. But what had possessed her to _kiss _him? She could only plead insanity. She just felt so bad when she saw those marks, like a miniature vampire had bitten him. And she'd had her share of little electric shocks when messing around with her fuse box, so she could only imagine what a stun gun must feel like. Her compassion kicked in and she did what most women do when faced with a man or a child with a minor injury. Kiss and make better. She didn't think about it, she just administered the treatment. Only now, as she picked up her purse and waiting for Rigsby to shut down his computer, did she allow herself to think about how thick and muscular his large hand had been in her two smaller ones. She conjured up the details of his skin and its rougher texture under her smooth fingers. She'd seen slight scarring along his knuckle bridge from years of hitting a punching bag without gloves. And, as she pressed her lips on his hand, she could feel him next to her, that looming frame of his that created a wall of warmth and patience that few men of his size ever bother to develop. So, yeah. She kissed him and asked him out. Those things, coupled with his doped-up declaration of love and hypnotized kiss, were really the proverbial straw.

She was still in those thoughts when Rigsby came up behind her. "Ready?" he asked. She started a bit, then smiled. "Absolutely."

They found just the kind of dive they were looking for off the highway, away from the Friday night crowds. Soon they were squeezed next to each other in a back booth and ordering the most unpretentious longnecks in stock. Both of them were surprised at how easy it was. After so many months of agonizing sexual tension between them, all it took was an 'I'm sorry' beer to clear both of their anxieties. This wasn't clearly labeled as a 'date', so they could both relax in each other's presence and only think of it as a date in their minds. They spent the next three hours talking, laughing, drinking, in a way that they'd never been able to with their other colleagues present. The room was dark and hot, and pretty soon both of them were sitting in their tee shirts, their jackets being too warm. As the waitress brought the next round, Grace was tipsy and giggling.

"I can't believe you let Jane talk you into this," she gestured to his track suit. "It really does make you look like mafia muscle."

Rigsby chuckled. "Me? What about that jailbait red dress you wore for that restaurant sting? I feel bad for the boyfriend you originally bought it for. It must have driven him crazy to see you it." He hadn't meant to say that, exactly, but the beer was loosening his tongue.

Grace grabbed her fresh beer and starting peeling the label, a habit she'd had ever since she turned 21. "I bought it for you," she said without looking up.

Rigsby's head shot up and he stared at her. "What?"

She looked up at him innocently. "For the sting. You played my boyfriend. I didn't have a red dress, so I went out and bought one. I wanted something that grabbed the killer's attention." She continued to torture her label. "Too bad it didn't work."

"I beg to differ." Dammit. Stuff kept coming out of his mouth that wasn't supposed to.

Label peeling paused. She looked up again. "Why do you beg to differ? The killer _didn't _go for me. But…" She lowered her chin and looked at him through her lashes. "Did it drive my 'boyfriend' crazy that day?"

He took a deep breath. "You drive him crazy everyday."

Grace's cheeks turned deep pink as she riveted her gaze on her bottle. She couldn't be sure, but she was fairly certain that the beer coursing through her veins allowed a smile to bloom that never would have made it passed her mental security checks ordinarily.

She ventured a look up at him. He was finishing off the last of his beer, tilting the bottle upwards and exposing his throat to her gaze. She suddenly ached to reach over and run her fingers down the column of his neck, to feel the prickliness of his stubble and the jump of his pulse at the base. He brought his head back down and placed the dead soldier by his many other fallen comrades on the table. Only then did he brave a glance her way. They stared at each other for what felt like hours.

Grace broke the silence. "It's late. We should probably get going."

Rigsby looked down at the table and nodded his head. He'd ruined it. Goddammit. He'd taken a perfectly nice evening alone with Grace and destroyed it by making an inappropriate comment. He cursed himself quietly as he grabbed his jacket and quickly stood up. "You're right. We should go."

He dropped a fifty on the table and turned towards the door, almost racing out.

"Wayne! Wait up," Grace grabbed her jacket and purse and ran after him. She caught up with him next to their SUV in the parking lot. "What are you doing, Wayne? Neither of us can drive. We need to call a cab. And why did you run out back there?"

He paced by the side of the SUV until she stood in his path and put her hands on his bare arms, stopping him. "Hey, what's going on? What happened to me buying _you_ a drink? Why are you so upset all of a sudden?" She dipped her head and put herself in his line of sight.

He still refused to look at her as one of his fists smacked the car door lightly. "I'm sorry, Grace." He dragged his other hand through his hair and tilted his head towards the stars. At least up there Grace couldn't look into his eyes.

But he didn't count on her sliding her hands up his arms to his cheeks and gently tugging his face back down again. She saw embarrassment and sadness in those big blue eyes and she knew instantly what he was feeling and why. She decided to skip the innocent act of asking him any more questions and decided to act.

She took his injured hand and held it up in the darkened parking lot light. "Does it still sting?" she asked quietly.

"A little," he mumbled, still tense.

She smiled reassuringly at him before she brought his hand to her lips again and kissed the burn marks lightly. Unlike before, she kept kissing them, slowly moving her mouth over his hand, his scarred knuckles, the base of his fingers. She heard him inhale sharply.

"What are you doing, Grace?" he whispered.

She moved her kiss to the inside of his wrist where she nipped his skin ever so lightly. He gasped. "I'm making you feel better," she whispered back. And with the she took his jacket from his other hand and threw it along with her stuff onto the hood before stepping into his space and moving her kiss up his forearm. She could feel him vibrating with pent-up energy as her lips explored the grooves of his hard flesh. She came to the crook in his elbow and she couldn't help darting her tongue out and swirling it in the hollow of the joint. Rigsby hissed and rocked backwards, falling against the car door and taking Grace with him. She gasped as she was dragged against his chest and felt his arms instinctively grab her to keep her from pitching over.

Her hands gripped his tee shirt.

Her breasts pressed against his chest.

His arms were crossed at her waist and grazed the top of her ass.

And this was enough to push them over.

Rigsby lowered his head and caught her lips in a mind-blowing kiss. Grace eagerly wrapped her arms around his neck for leverage and pushed herself against him hungrily, opening her mouth to his demanding tongue and moaning lustfully. His hands slid up her sides several times before pulling her tee shirt out of her skirt and gliding up the smooth lines of her ribcage. She nodded against his kiss in encouragement, yanking his tee shirt from his own waistband and dragging her fingers over the chiseled texture of his abdomen and sides. They attacked each other in earnest until Rigsby jerked his head to one side and groaned loudly. Losing his lips, Grace moved her kiss to his jaw. His body thrummed with intent while his brain fought a losing battle to stop this drunken groping of his co-worker outside of a bar. This was _Grace_. She deserved roses and candles and wine and all that romantic stuff they show in movies. She deserved to be treated like a princess, not a $10 trick with broken bottles and tire tread at her feet. He forced his voice out.

"Grace?"

Kisses along his throat.

"Hmmmm?"

Her tongue on his pulse point. _Jesus._

"We're drunk."

Her hands sliding under his tee shirt and up his back.

"Tipsy," she murmured into his throat.

"In a parking lot."

Her nails tracing over his ribs. _God help me_, he thought.

"Too much talking," she peppered kisses along his collarbone.

He grabbed her by hips and whirled her around, switching their positions and pressing her between the SUV and the wall of his chest. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them by the side of her head against the windows. He lowered his head to her jaw and began a slow, delicious series of kisses from her chin to her throat.

"I am _not_,"

_kiss_

"going to take you,"

_kiss_

"in a damned parking lot."

_kiss_

Grace uttered a small cry of desire and pushed her chest into his, fighting his hold on her wrists as she tried desperately to touch him. But he wasn't giving in as he continued his spine-melting tour of her throat with his mouth. Needing him like nothing in her life before, she raised her knee and brought it to the crotch of his track pants, grinding softly into the hard bulge she found there. He froze mid-kiss and groaned harshly against her neck.

"Dammit, Grace. You're not making this easy," he whispered gruffly.

She slipped her wrists from his distracted grasp and locked one around his waist while the other cupped his bulge and squeezed gently. Rigsby bucked into her hand and hissed loudly. His fists smacked into the SUV on either side of her as he fought against the wonderful sensation of Grace Van Pelt's hands on his cock. She massaged him firmly as she leaned up to his ear. "Then call a cab and take me somewhere less objectionable."

He squeezed his eyes shut and smacked the SUV again in frustration, looming over her as she worked him. Grace couldn't help but shiver at his sexy display of power. She couldn't help but feel a little powerful herself as she squeezed him again through his pants and forced another groan from his throat. She took pity on him and released him, bringing her arms around his neck and kissing him softly. His eyes opened in surprise before quickly shutting again and kissing her back, wrapping his arms around her waist and drawing her into him.

They kissed like horny teenagers for several minutes before Rigsby broke away again, pulling his lips from hers and inhaling deeply. He kept his arms around her as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes, sighing deeply. Grace could feel his chivalry and his desire battling for control in his body language, so she didn't press him. She wanted him. Badly. No denying that. But she understood his reasoning. They _had_ been drinking. They _were_ in a parking lot. And they _might _wake up tomorrow together and feel that anything they did that night was a mistake.

She smiled as she ran her hands lightly over his back. They were balancing on a knife's edge. She knew that if he pinned her to their car and took her hard and fast, she'd gladly participate. She knew that if she shoved him into the SUV and ripped his clothes off, he wouldn't object. They were both so hungry for each other, but neither of them wanted the responsibility of possibly ruining their friendship and work relationship. Still, she couldn't help but giggle as she nuzzled her nose against his chest.

He brought his head down and kissed her lovingly on the top of her head. "Why are you giggling?" he asked, inhaling her shampoo and almost purring at its lovely scent.

"What in the world are we going to do, Wayne?" she smiled into his chest.

He smiled back against her hair. "I don't know. But so help me, I'm fighting the urge to take you right here standing up."

His voice had turned thick and rough. She felt her knees go wobbly as she moaned softly against his tee shirt. "Don't tease."

He growled softly and she felt the vibrations rumble through his chest and into hers. She looked up into his eyes and told the truth. "I want you."

His growl grew deeper. "I want you too."

She placed a small peck on his lips. "Then take me home."

He shut his eyes and shook his head. "You deserve better than this, sweetheart."

She grinned and planted another kiss on his adorable lips. "I don't want you to seduce me, Wayne, if that's what you're worried about. I don't need dinner and a movie. I just need you. Now." She toyed with the short hair on the nape of his neck. "Please?"

His eyes still shut, he exhaled slowly against her lips and nodded. "Okay, Grace."

He pulled his arms away and pulled out his phone to call for a cab. Grace used the time to step away from him and catch her breath while she smoothed out her clothes. She heard his phone snap shut behind her.

"Ten minutes," he told her.

She nodded and turned back to him. "Ten minutes then. We have that long to sober up, change our minds and tell the guy to make two stops."

Rigsby smiled at her as he slowly circled her, letting his predatory side show a little. Grace shivered with delight as she felt his intimidating body skulk around her like a wolf. "Is that what you want?" he asked in a low voice.

Her back instinctively arched a little as her eyes closed. His voice was soothing and menacing all at once. No doubt the booze was affecting his control on these sides of his personality. Sides she didn't normally get to see. She instantly liked them. They felt…a bit dangerous. Sweet, cuddly Rigsby had a dangerous streak. Well, Jane had said so, and the hypnosis certainly brought out some dark tendencies. His clothes didn't help either. As he moved around her, his tee shirt accentuated his muscles and his black pants set off his dark hair. She shivered again. Her teddy bear. Her dangerous, dark teddy bear.

"I don't know. Ten minutes is an awfully long time," she whispered.

Her eyes were still closed, yet she could feel him as he moved around her. She could sense his intentions and half-wondered if he'd take right now after all, standing up.

"Maybe we should list the pros and cons," she added smilingly.

She heard him chuckle deep in his throat. She gasped as he grabbed her by the waist and dragged her back into his arms, up against the SUV once again. He leaned back against the door as he held her tightly in front of him. He didn't attempt another kiss, but instead just rubbed his hands up and down her back soothingly. He looked down into her face and smiled. "Okay. Pro. You're adorably sexy."

She giggled. "You stole mine."

"Then list a con," he said.

"Fine. Con. Our office forbids romantic relationships," she said.

"Pro. Forbidden relationships are also very sexy," he countered.

"Con. We're drunk," she reminded him.

"Pro. You referred to us as tipsy. And we're not so tipsy that we don't know what we're doing," he pointed out.

Grace nodded. "I get a pro now. I sound like a buzzkill," she squinted in exaggerated thought. "Pro. We've known each other for nine months and care about each other."

Rigsby smiled happily. "I like that one. Con. I don't want you doing anything with me you're going to regret."

"Pro. I get to find out if Jane was right and you are indeed an excellent lover," she said, blushing a bit as the words formed.

She felt his arms tighten around her and the smile left his face. His eyes grew large and dark as he leaned down to capture her lips again. He kissed her slowly, exploring her mouth with his tongue and gently nipping her lower lip. His hands slid up her sides and she gasped as he took her breasts into his palms and teased her nipples through her top.

"I think you've convinced me," he whispered against her mouth.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Their cab rolled up next to the SUV and made them jump. Grace instantly moved out of Rigsby's arms and tried to look casual as the driver put his car in park. She grabbed their stuff from the hood and was about to open the back door to climb in, but Rigsby grabbed her elbows and pulled her back against his chest. "One address or two?" he whispered against her ear.

She didn't respond as he let go, but as he climbed into the back seat with her, he got his answer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: Thar be smutty, fluffy, smuff ahead. Ye be warned.

**Chapter Two**

She gave her address to the cabbie.

So that was it. They were going to her place. She sat beside him, looking straight forward, cool as a cucumber. He snaked his hand out and rested it on her thigh. The fabric of her skirt felt wonderful and infuriating all at the same time. He delighted he was finally touching her this way, impatient because he had to behave himself for the length of the ride.

"Did you want to continue the list?" he asked casually.

Grace didn't look at him, but cracked a smile as her hand slid over his on her leg. "No," she said simply.

He gripped her thigh and moved closer to her. Her hooked a finger on her chin and turned her face towards his. "Did you want me to be a good boy and go home?"

Her tiny smile didn't falter. "No."

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Click_

Grace's front door closed behind them. Rigsby pressed his back against it as he watched Grace drop her things on her sofa before turning back to him. The room was dark, save for the soft streetlight streaming through the windows. She smoothed her hands over her skirt as she slowly walked back to him.

The effects of the beer were wearing off now. Rigsby could feel his brazen confidence slowly fading into heightened worry and excitement. His worry increased at the thought of Grace coming down from her high and changing her mind. Not that he _ever_ wanted to take advantage of her being drunk, but he desperately hoped her desire for him wasn't purely alcohol-induced.

She came to a stop in front of him and hesitantly raised her hands to his chest. "You look nervous," she whispered.

"So do you, sweetheart," he whispered back.

She nodded slightly. "I guess that means we're sobering up." She took a deep breath and dropped her head. "Do you still--?"

"Yes." He didn't let her finish. Her eyes came up to meet his gaze and she smiled nervously.

"But I can still go home, if you want me to. I told you, I don't want you to regret anything," he added, starting to feel more and more like a pushy first date. He needed her to know he could stop, that he _would _stop no matter how far they took this, if that was her wish.

Her smile became softer and her hands slid down his chest, under his arm, and to the door behind him. He heard the deadbolt as she slid it into place. "Don't go," she whispered. He leaned down and kissed her gently, pouring all of his love and desire into the slow, deliberate movements of his tongue and lips. She felt amazing. She tasted amazing. He had to rein himself in as he kept his hands and kisses light against her.

Grace didn't understand how a man built like a tank could kiss as softly as a feather caressing her lips. Or how his hands—hands built for punching and crushing—could feel like gentle and inquisitive velvet moving over her body. She murmured against his lips, wrapping arms around his back and pulling him tighter against her. She almost needed confirmation that it wasn't just feathers and velvet in her arms, but Wayne.

Her hands confirmed it: 6'5", 225lbs.

Her man.

She smiled into their kiss at the thought as she increased the pressure on his lips. She loved his tenderness, but her desire was becoming more urgent. She needed more. So. Much. More.

Rigsby felt her eagerness and responded. His deepened their kiss, plumbing her mouth and riveting her hips against his own. She moaned into his mouth, making him bolder. He felt his erection growing fast and instead of pulling back slightly to hide it, he ground himself harder against her.

Grace gasped and broke their kiss, snaking her hand down his front to once again cup him through his clothes. The weight and breadth of his bulge made her shiver. Although she'd been with a few men in her 26 years, there hadn't been many, and there certainly hadn't been any lately. And now, even fully clothed, she could feel that she literally had a big one on her hands. As he grew and throbbed in her palm, she knew that Wayne wasn't simply going to be the tallest man she'd ever been with, but the biggest as well. An ache bit deep between her legs as she massaged him. She felt excitement, lust, and a tiny sprinkle of fear at this. How big was too big? Would it actually be painful? But she pushed the thought aside as the pleasure of hearing him groan distracted her.

God, she was killing him. Her hand wasn't letting up and if he didn't stop her soon, she'd make him come right there in his pants. He decided to take the upper hand. He grabbed her hands from him and lifted her arms clear above her head. He pulled her tee shirt from her skirt and stripped it clean off her. Oh, God. That didn't help at all. More of her body than he'd ever seen was bare and stunning and waiting for him. He pulled her to him and kissed her hard, mostly so he could close his eyes and block out the sight. He unclasped her skirt at her back and pushed it off her hips, his hands stroking up and down her hips and thighs as he did so. She felt like sunshine. Like silk. Like laughter and love and Christmas and cupcakes and anything else that made up sublime happiness. He felt her tug impatiently at his shirt and he broke their kiss so she could lift it over his head. He saw her pupil dilated and she unconsciously licked her lips as she stared at him.

"God, Wayne," she moaned. And without warning her lust kicked into high gear. She kicked off her heels. She grabbed him by the shoulders. She jumped upwards and he instinctively caught her as she wrapped her long legs around his waist. How many times had he imagined what those legs would feel like wrapped around him? And now she was kissing him greedily, holding his head firmly in her hands and attacking his mouth with hers.

"Take me,"

_kiss_

"to bed."

_kiss_

"Hurry."

Always the gentleman, Rigsby carried the half-naked lady to her bedroom, as per her request.

They tumbled onto the mattress. Rigsby managed to kick off his shoes without losing any contact with her glorious body. Her hands were pushing impatiently at his track pants from underneath him. He helped them along and pushed them, along with his boxers, all the way off his legs. He lay sprawled across her, naked and hungry and kissing her in a way that gave her no reprieve. She cried out against his mouth, arching into the brick of his body and sliding her legs along his. She brought her hands down and gripped him. Hard. She moaned loudly as she confirmed her suspicions. Big. Huge. Nine inches at least. And thick. She held him in both hands and stroked him once. Twice. On the third time and grabbed her hands from him and she mewled in disappointment.

"I won't last long if you keep that up," he growled in her ear.

She whimpered beneath him as he kissed his way down her throat to the valley between her breasts. He reached behind her and unhooked her pink bra, yanking away the offending fabric and groaning at the bounty behind it. Her breasts were heavy and incredibly well-shaped. Her nipples were small and pink, tiny little pebbles against soft, creamy swells. His cock jumped and suddenly his blood was made purely of testosterone. The body beneath him was made for two things: him and making babies. _His _babies. The thought came unbidden out of the most primal recesses of his mind. Suddenly the modern dating world dropped away and was replaced with the caveman imperative. Beautiful woman. Take her. Love her. Protect her. Have children. Love them. Protect them. Die happy.

He smiled softly and shook his head. First things first.

He kissed his way up one delicious side before he latched his lips to that adorable pink tip. Grace arched into his mouth and called his name. Her fingers wound themselves into his hair and held him against her, moaning and whimpering as his teeth gently scraped and nibbled this most wondrous of fruits. He moved to the other breast, giving it the same delicious attention as he did the first.

Grace thought she was going to die of frustration. His touch was magic, but it was also a curse. It made her jump and writhe and moan and want _far_ more than what was being given. As his mouth moved from her breasts down her stomach, she was almost shaking with need.

"Wayne. Please. Need you now," she called to him.

He looked up and smiled at her. "Soon, baby. Very soon."

He reached the top of her panties. Also pink. Also offending. He hooked his thumbs in the band and pulled them down gently. Another groan shook him and another flash of caveman need struck him hard. He didn't think. He spread her folds with his fingers and descended. Grace jerked upwards and cried out before falling back and moaning his name. His senses were flooded with her smell and taste. She was soaking wet. It was delicious. All of her exercise and healthy eating made for an unbelievably sweet cocktail as he lapped and sucked at her. He circled her clit before tonguing it mercilessly. He adored the sounds he ripped from her as he sucked it into his mouth and carefully—so carefully—bit down. Grace gave a breathy scream and her soft thighs clamped around his head.

"Now! Need you now!" she cried out as she ran her hands desperately through his hair. He brushed his lips quickly against each beautiful thigh before he crawled up her body again and kissed her deeply. Her arms went around his back and pressed him hard into her breasts as she returned his kiss with all of her might. She opened her legs wider, making room for his hips as he positioned himself as her entrance.

He paused and looked down into her eyes. Their gaze held. This was it. After this there would be no going back. Rigsby, for one, wouldn't allow it. If he took her now, there was no way in hell he'd let her get away. He loved her. He was going to _make_ love to her. And that act would bind them. She would belong to him. He already belonged to her. He'd make her see this. He had to.

Grace stared into his baby blues and lost her heart completely. After so many cold nights dreaming about him. After so many days of avoiding his eyes and touch, just so she could hold onto her sanity. This was it. After this, she would no longer be able to look him in the eye and not tell him how she desperately needed him. Wanted him. And yes, loved him. She loved him so much that sometimes it hurt to even look at him.

She brought her hands to his hips and pulled him in.

Rigsby gasped and swore loudly. So, so wet. But as her wetness pulled him in, he instantly met resistance in her muscles. He pressed slightly harder. He suddenly broke through and the resulting tightness nearly caused him to black out. She was _far_ too tight. It felt too agonizingly wonderful to be real. An animalistic gasp tore from his throat as he pulled back.

"No, I'm hurting you. Sweet Jesus, baby. Why are you so tight?" he groaned against her ear. He felt elated and devastated all at once. She was, without a doubt, the most mind-blowing sensation he'd ever felt. But he couldn't have her. He couldn't dare push any deeper. His frustration hit him so hard that he almost felt like crying.

Grace was in agony as well. She'd felt him inside her for one beautiful second, then he'd pulled away. She'd only had an inch of him before it was cruelly withdrawn and she cried out in anger. Why was he stopping? Why didn't he plunge all the way in and give her what she so desperately needed? But then she heard his raspy lament in her ear and her heart leapt with love at his concern. He thought he was hurting her. She marveled as she hugged him to her. She thanked her God for sending such a decent man to her before she capturing his lips in a comforting kiss.

"You're not hurting me, Wayne. Don't stop. You feel so, so good." She pulled at his hips again. He pulled his head up and looked into her eyes, searching carefully for any hint of a lie before he let his cock brush against her once again. He reentered slowly and growled lustfully. Once again her wetness pulled at him while her walls squeezed him torturously. He groaned and panted as he broke through again, making himself move slowly. When he was buried to the hilt, Rigsby had a religious experience. Specifically about Heaven. He had always pictured Heaven as a wonderful, incorporeal place. A place of cool air. A place of breezy, spacious light. That, he realized, was completely wrong. His convictions changed the moment he entered the body of Grace Van Pelt. He knew now, with absolute certainty, that Heaven was wet, tight, and gloriously hot.

Grace sobbed his name and arched up frantically as he entered her. Her walls were forced wide against his girth. He filled her so completely and so perfectly that he almost clicked into place. No one had ever felt this good, and they hadn't even started. Oh God. She mourned the idea of ever having sex with any man except the one currently in her arms. They fit together like puzzle pieces. His body melted against hers in a way that she'd never even imagined was possible. In just seven seconds, Grace had been ruined for every other man on earth. _This _was her mate. She was certain of it.

Rigsby withdrew and reentered slowly, locking his arms and holding himself above her as he thrust into her body. He hissed and babbled lustfully as he started to fuck this angel beneath him. "Jesus, sweetheart…so wet…so hot…beautiful…need you…oh, my God…Grace…How can you be this tight?"

Each thrust into her made her keen and cry out. She gripped his ass, angling him so that he hit just the right spot. She answered him between his deep plunges. "Yoga…and…no sex…since…I moved here. Oh, God!" She cried out again.

Her outrageously sexy answer drove him crazy and he snarled possessively, pumping faster and harder.

"Not anymore. You," he swirled his hips and was rewarded with a moan.

"are going to be having sex," he moved one hand between them and rubbed her glistening clit.

"every single day until further notice." He leaned down and bit her throat, sucking hard and marking her for all to see.

His teeth.

His fingers.

His huge cock pumping into her sex-starved body.

It was too much. She screamed. Her body went rigid and her core, already so snug around him, clamped down and locked him into place. Rigsby gave a startled and ragged shout of ecstasy as his cock was wrung with no mercy while Grace writhed and bucked underneath him.

Agony. Bliss. Most definitely Heaven. Rigsby could only hold on and roar while her convulsing body held him prisoner. He'd never experienced anything that bordered on pain and paradise at the same time. His lungs couldn't get enough oxygen. His hips couldn't thrust in or pull out. His back was scored by ten little nails raking across his skin. Looking down at _his _woman, he knew he'd never have a more perfect sexual experience than the one he was having right now. And with that thought, he lost it. He rammed his hips hard against hers and ejaculated violently and deep in her womb. His orgasm shook him so hard that he screamed at the top of his lungs just to release the pressure. He pushed once, twice, three more times as she gasped and cried out as the last of her climax ripped through her.

He was melting. He was sure of it. But even in his boneless haze, the last thing he wanted to do was collapse on her and force her to take his weight. He snaked his arms around her back and rolled them. Grace's knees fell on either side of his hips. Her head spooned into the hollow of his shoulder, a spot that she knew now was made just for her. She tucked her hands between them, her palms on his chest. They lay joined and sated and panting harshly against each other.

They didn't talk for the longest time. They just basked in their happiness and amazement and didn't want to ruin it with words. Grace was content to just listen to his heartbeat as she lay snuggled against his chest. Rigsby wrapped his arms tightly around her back, absently running his fingers through her hair.

After a time, Grace raised her head and looked down at the man she had pinned to her bed. He smiled softly at her, still running his hands over her body in a light, undemanding way.

She brought his injured hand to her lips and kissed it lightly. "Does it still burn?" she asked quietly.

He watched her lave affection on his burn and smiled. "Only from where a pretty lady kissed it," he answered. She smiled against his hand and gave it one final, lingering kiss before letting him go.

"Well," she sighed as she settled deeper into his arms. "I guess this is it. We're now officially in a secret, forbidden relationship. Such a shame. I was really looking forward to telling Jane that he was right about your sexual prowess."

She giggled as he scowled at her. His hands tightened around her as he pretended to growl angrily. "Sorry, lady. You're not leaving this bed. Ever. I'm keeping you in it indefinitely. You have nine months of torturing me to make up for."

She squealed with laughter as he suddenly attacked her ribs, tickling her mercilessly while trapping her wrists behind her back. She squirmed and pushed and screamed her delight as she fought against his impossible hold.

"Not...fair! I…didn't torture…you!"

He laughed. "Didn't torture me? You killed me every day, little girl!"

He flipped them and trapped her underneath him again, pinning her wrists in his hands and bracketing his legs over hers. She continued to fight as his lips moved to her ear and nibbled her lobe.

"This red hair. These long legs. Sweet little lips. Delicious smell. Beautiful eyes. Sexy little outfits. You. Tortured. Me."

His kisses along her throat moved in time with his words and Grace stopped fighting and instinctively pushed into his body, into his words.

"Good," she whispered. And she quickly proceeded to torture him all over again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note**: Smut. Total, shameless smut. It's all I know, people.

**Chapter Three**

Rigsby woke up to bright sunlight streaming through the window and an empty bed that wasn't his. He blinked his eyes slowly, looking for his clock on his nightstand. It wasn't there. His bleary eyes fluttered and readjusted. Instead he was greeted with a small table with a lamp and a stack of books. He turned his head against the pillow in confusion and inhaled slowly. _Grace._ The pillow was infused with the wonderful smell of Grace. He could detect three distinct scents: her flowery shampoo, her breezy perfume and the indefinable, addictive essence that was her skin. He inhaled again and closed his eyes, grinning from ear to ear. He was in Grace's bed. His chest expanded with his intake of air and his infusion of happiness. He'd imagined waking up in this very fashion for months now and, as usual, the reality was so much sweeter than even his most incandescent fantasy. The only thing wrong was _how _he woke up. He was _supposed_ to be in a warm, naked tangle of limbs with a mass of red hair scattered across his chest. He was _supposed_ to awaken and find two copper eyes smiling back at him.

If he'd awoken in his own apartment and found himself alone, he would have instantly felt abandoned and scared that she'd run off in the night. Since, however, this was her own place, he was merely curious and a bit disappointed. Well, better get up and find out where she got to. He sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed his track pants, not bothering with his boxers. He looked around for his tee shirt, then remembered that Grace had stripped it off him in the living room. Another smile arced across his lips and a rush of warmth surged through his blood. Grace had stripped him. Grace had jumped him, literally. Grace had opened her entire body to him and cried out in pleasure as he drove into her. Okay, now he really needed to find her. His memories of last night were starting to spark a reaction and he didn't want to be alone when it burst into flames.

He got up and walked out to the living room. He could hear music softly drifting from the kitchen and very muted humming. He turned the corner and his heart stopped in his chest.

Grace was standing at the stove. She was cooking something he couldn't see, but from the smell, he guessed eggs. And pancakes. She was humming softly to herself as she stirred something in a pan. She was wearing nothing but a tee shirt. _His tee shirt. _It cascaded down her shoulders and tented around her body until it billowed around her mid thigh. Her hair was loose. Tousled. It fell in a tangled mane down her back. Rigsby knew that if he ever had the heart to take that tee shirt back, he'd never wash it again. He'd keep it in a drawer all by itself and only take it out when he wanted to inhale her scent and remember this moment. _If_ he ever took it back, but considering how perfect she looked in it, he doubted he ever would. He'd rather go home half-naked and leave her with a reminder of him.

_Almost done._ Grace smiled in satisfaction as she starting shoveling her scrambled eggs and pancakes onto serving plates. She'd woken up early to find herself surrounded by Wayne's arms. She had always been a morning person, never dawdling and always out of bed by 7:00, but that morning she could easily have stayed curled up, snug and warm, in the hollow of his chest. The only thing that pulled her from his embrace was a serious need to pee. She tried to push through his arms, but he murmured in his sleep and tightened his grip on her. She ended up slithering underneath them. As she stood by her bed and looked down at him, her heart felt too big for her chest and she had trouble breathing. He was so beautiful. Laying naked in her bed, stripped of his suit and badge and gun, he was just Wayne Rigsby, so familiar and yet so completely out of context. She wondered what it would have been like to meet him out in the real world. If he'd walked up to her in a club or coffee shop, would she have talked to him? Let him take her out? Brought him back to her place after too much beer? Unlikely. She would have taken one look at him, pegged him for a handsome player, and shut him down. She sighed and thanked God she got to know him under different circumstances.

He murmured in his sleep again. He looked so peaceful. His dark head looked so…right on her pillow. And his arms looked so inviting that she was almost tempted to dive back into them. But now she was up, and once Grace Van Pelt was up, she moved with a purpose.

She wasn't normally much of a cook since it was just her, but she took special delight in making breakfast today. Especially since her guest had a bottomless stomach and undemanding standards. She'd wandered out into the living room and found some of their clothes discarded on the floor. She saw his tee shirt lying in the mess and picked it up. She brought it to her nose and inhaled deeply. God, it smelled good. Aftershave, leather, and the light musky smell of a healthy man in his prime. She instantly pulled it over her own head and his scent settled all around her. Her body responded to the smell and she sighed as the sensation of want ran through her. She walked into the kitchen and got to work, occasionally stopping to lift the front of the shirt to her nose to inhale again.

Her thoughts about him took her so far away that her hand missed the handle of the maple syrup bottle and caught the nozzle instead. She cursed softly under her breath and brought her sticky palm to her mouth. She gasped when her wrist was caught from behind and she was whirled around. She was pulled up against a large, heavy, shirtless man who stared back at her with blue, hungry eyes. He said nothing, but simply brought her syrupy palm to his mouth, sucking and lapping her skin clean. Her eyes fluttered shut as his tongue made love to her hand.

"Good morning," she whispered, eyes still closed as she leaned into him.

He released her hand caught her around the waist. "You have no idea," he purred.

He bent down and grazed her lips with his. "You're in my shirt," he smiled. She pulled back slightly and grinned. "You don't want it back, do you? I'd have to eat breakfast naked."

His arms tightened around her. "Oh God, Grace." He growled and kissed her harder, slipping his hands under his own shirt and gliding his hands over her alabaster skin. Christ, he was going to lose it right then and there. He could smell himself on her. He could smell their sex clinging to her body. And as he tipped her head to the side to kiss her neck, he saw his love bite at the base of her throat. She was completely branded by him and it was driving him insane. He moved to pull the tee shirt from her, but she giggled and pulled out of his grasp.

"Be a good boy. You wore me out last night and I'm hungry," she informed him in a mock serious tone as she turned back to the counter and pulled out plates and cups.

"What if I don't want to be a good boy?" He was right behind her. Looming again. Oh God, give her strength.

She gave him her best flinty glare over her shoulder and pointed to her dining table. "Sit, boy. Sit."

He growled softly at her order before turning away towards the table, but not before he placed a well-aimed smack on her ass.

"Hey!" she half-shouted, half-giggled. "I said be good."

She brought the plates, cups of juice and two platters of eggs and pancakes to the table where he sat in teasing petulance. She didn't look at him as she set up their meal, but she could feel his eyes lasering across her bare legs and she tried her best not to shiver.

She sat across from him and smiled sunnily into his lecherous gaze. "Eat. And don't tell me you're not hungry. You're _always_ hungry," she chirped as she started piling eggs onto her own plate. He chuckled and picked up two pancakes and proceeded to saturate them in syrup. He put his lust on hold and dug into his short stack. Sugar and spice hit his tongue and he grunted his appreciation. Grace was right, he was hungry, and not his usual I'm-a-guy-and-I-need-food kind of hungry. It was a genuine need for calories after hours of physical activity. He ginned and took another huge bite. Physical activity. Damn straight.

He watched as Grace took delicate bites of her eggs and small triangles of pancake. Even her chewing was adorable as she gazed out the window and moved her jaw in tiny, closed circles. She felt his gaze and looked back at him. "What?" she asked.

"You are so damn sexy." His answer came without thinking.

She blushed and looked down at her plate.

"What would you do if I shoved this stuff to the floor and took you right here on the table?" His question shocked both of them. Sure, he'd been thinking about sweeping his arm across the surface, crashing the dishes to the floor and dragging her to him, but actually saying it out loud? He must be crazy.

Her eyes grew round as saucers and she inhaled sharply. His words astonished her. Scandalized her. And turned her on such much she instantly felt wetness between her thighs. Her sweet, unassuming friend and partner was turning out to be a bodice-ripping rogue of a lover. She knew she ought to be thinking about the mess he'd make, about the broken dishes and spilled OJ. But looking at him now with his chest moving heavily and his eyes turning black with lust, she suddenly couldn't think about anything except getting him naked. Now.

He watched in agony as she sat in silence, considering him. After 30 horrifying seconds, he watched her slowly pick up the syrup bottle and hold it to her chest.

"I'd let you," she answered.

In a blur of motion he was out of his chair and knocking every item off her table with one sweep of his arm. As predicted, it all clattered to the floor in a mess of glass and ceramic. He reached for her, but she was already crawling across the table, standing on her knees in front of him and pulling him to her. As they kissed each other desperately, they were both amused by the novelty of Grace—with the help of the table—being taller than Rigsby. His hands moved over her body more easily and he liked the sensation of tilting up to kiss her instead of down. His busy hands found hers still holding the syrup bottle to her chest and he tugged at it gently, wanting it to join its friends on the floor. But she held onto it and broke their kiss, smiling down at him.

"Take off your pants," she ordered.

Now that's the kind of bossing he could get used to. "Yes, ma'am."

He shoved them down his legs and stepped out of them. He watched as Grace set the bottle down and pulled his shirt from her body. He gasped at the sight. Naked Grace. Would it always take his breath away? She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply once more, guiding him closer to the edge of the table. She could feel his raging erection pressing against her and decided to put her plan into action. She had no idea where the plan had come from and had certainly never done anything like it before, but hearing him ask permission to ravish her mid-meal had inspired her.

Rigsby felt her pull her hips slightly away from his body as she continued to kiss him with abandon. He thought nothing of it until he felt cool liquid dripping on his cock and he broke their kiss in confusion. He was met with a wicked smile and a bottle of maple syrup coating his hard-on. He inhaled to speak, but Grace pressed her finger to his lips.

"I'm still hungry," she whispered, and with that she kissed her way down his chest, tossing the bottle to the floor. He knew what was coming. Oh God, did he know. But he wasn't prepared for how. Rather than Grace huddling in front of him, she flipped to her back. Her head now fell just off the table and her body spread out in front of him in all of its glory. She pulled his hips toward her and, before he had a chance to even gulp, she took him in her mouth. Upside down.

His knees almost gave out.

Her hair fell along his thighs and knees and tickled him while she sucked and swirled her tongue around his cock. She couldn't move her head very much, so she guided his hips as she sucked him in and out. In. Out. She increased the suction, hollowing out her cheeks and moaning loudly as she took as much of him as she could.

Rigsby was a rubbery mass of pleasure and obscenities.

"Holy fuck!...baby, no…you don't need to…oh, shit...your tongue…you feel sooo good…Grace, Jesus…where did you…learn…fuck!"

She brought her hands and started to massage his balls and the base of his cock as her mouth continued to take no prisoners. His swearing increased in speed and volume.

God, he tasted sweet. From the second she pulled him into her mouth, her tongue went into overdrive to suck the sweet, sticky syrup from the sexiest lollipop she'd ever eaten. Her tongue was diligent, but the syrup was stubborn and adhered doggedly to his skin. She sucked harder and harder, pulling her inner cheeks along his shaft and pumping his hips faster in a delicious effort to get every last drop. His throaty cries only spurred her on as her body writhed and arched in front of him, wanting his cock in several places at once.

"Grace…baby…you need to…stop. I'm gonna…oh, Christ…Grace, please…I can't…shit!"

But she had no intention of stopping. She sucked even harder and gripped his ass, forcing him to stay in place. She deep throated again and moaned loudly, almost gleeful as his instincts took over and he fucked her mouth, shooting his load deep in her throat.

"FUUUUCK!" he roared.

Reaching for anything to keep him upright as a powerful orgasm ripped his body to shreds, his hands clasped onto Grace's forearms. They locked their hands on each other's elbows as Rigsby rocked and shuddered above her. He came down slowly, panting and swallowing in ragged gulps. He dropped to his knees and took her head in his hands, kissing her tenderly from her upside down perch. He could taste the salt of his come on her lips and he groaned in exhausted ecstasy.

"Mmmmm," she licked her lips and his. "Yummy."

He shakily got to his feet and gathered Grace up in his arms. He lifted her from the table and walked without a word back to her bedroom. He fell backwards onto the bed, holding her to his chest and tucking her head under his chin. His hands stroked along her sides, keeping her warm and ready. He could smell her desire radiating from between her legs and he was fuming that his dining room plans had been thwarted in favor of something totally mind-blowing yet completely one-sided. Okay, so maybe he wasn't fuming. In fact, he was over the moon that he'd gotten to watch his true love wrap her pouty lips around his cock and fuck it dry. But he wasn't so easily sated.

In ten minutes, she was gonna get it.

She pulled her head back and looked at him. "Are you okay?"

He nodded. He had no words. She'd sucked them out of him. She'd sucked him stupid. And once he rallied his troops, he was going to return the favor and fuck her into the same state of blissful nothingness.

He just needed a minute...


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

_Four hours later…_

Nine? Ten? Oh, God. She wasn't sure. Grace collapsed on her stomach, panting and uttering little moans of pleasure as she tried in vain to remember exactly how many orgasms she'd had in the last 12 hours. She'd lost count. Or, more accurately, as the toll climbed up, her brain had stopped counting and began marveling at her body's ability to come so easily with _him_.

The man responsible for her blissful stupor lay on his back just beside her, panting as just as hard and sweating from exertion. She turned her head on her pillow to look at him as she fought to catch her breath. His hair was slick and damp. His skin glowed and his chest muscles worked furiously as his lungs undulated rhythmically in his ribcage. Grace smiled. At least she wasn't the only one who gotten the wind knocked out of her. As she watched him recuperate, she thought about his threat last night. She hadn't realized at the time that he was serious, but apparently Wayne was actually planning on keeping her in bed forever. Just like she hadn't realized that when he said 'bed', he actually meant 'anywhere in her apartment'. After her little syrup stunt, she thought she'd done a pretty good job of knocking him out. Oh, how she had underestimated him. After just six minutes of rest, he had taken her to the damn sexual Olympics.

_He dragged her onto the dining table again and laid her out on her back like his favorite meal. He grabbed her ankles, opening her legs wide on either side of his hips while he stood at the edge and thrust deeply. She moaned in ecstasy as her walls stretched wide, adjusting to his hard, thick presence. He pumped with frantic abandon, his eyes becoming more and more intense as his thrusts ripped louder and louder cries from her throat. As she neared her climax, he'd released her ankles and gripped her thighs, pistoning in and out until she screamed his name, her juices coating him just like her syrup had. _

_He gave her no rest, instantly dropping to his knees and taking her still-quivering pussy into his mouth. He suckled every last drop of her wetness before he attacked her clit. Her hips bucked under his mouth as she tried to escape and embrace this brutal over-stimulation of her sensitive nerves, but his hands kept her in place and his tongue brought her to her second orgasm in record time. Her sex-addled brain wondered briefly if her neighbors thought she was being murdered, what with all of her screaming. Hell with it. Let the cops come and find them going at it like animals, she was far too dazed to care. _

_Only when he stood up did she see he was still engorged and hadn't come yet. Oh, no. She was in for more delicious punishment then. Sure enough. He picked her up from the table, only to walk over to a wall free of picture frames. He pushed her back against the wall, hiked her slim legs around his waist and pushed again into her fluttering wet heat. _

"_You like that?" he whispered hoarsely._

"_Oh, my God," was all she could manage as her body welcomed him in yet again. _

_He thrust hard, their flesh smacking together. He kissed her deeply, grabbing her hands from his back and trapping them above her head in one hand while the other slid down to stroke her breasts and taut stomach. She cried out, arching against him, begging with her body. He cupped her jaw, forcing her eyes open. She sobbed loudly, fighting against his hold on her hands, arching her back, wanting to touch every inch of him as he withdrew and plunged again deeply. Finally he let her go and she clamped her hands on his shoulders, her nails digging into him. He hissed and grunted excitedly at the pain, pulling her legs tighter around him and driving their hips roughly together. _

"_Come for me," she whispered. _

_He gasped into her neck and his pace became frenzied. "No," he grunted. "_You_ come for _me_. Now."_

_She whimpered. The roughness of his voice sent shivers down her spine. She wasn't sure if she could come again so quickly, but she knew he wouldn't stop until she did. She summoned up her willful, mischievous streak and whispered to him._

"_Make me." _

_He roared in angry delight at her challenge and propelled her against the wall to hard that pictures on the other walls shook. He knew she was already spent from their romp on the table and it would take a little extra to get her off again so soon._

_So he used his words._

"_Make you, huh? Is this what you need?" He moved his hand between them and nestled in her soft curls, pulling and rubbing her throbbing clit. Her eyes rolled back and she gave a breathy little sob. Rigsby smiled viciously. _

"_Oh, I'll make you come, baby. You'll come for me and scream my name in that sexy little voice of yours."_

_Grace sobbed louder and felt her body tighten at his words. His dirty, sexy words. He rolled her clit between his thumb and forefinger and she bucked between his body and the wall as she neared her climax. _

_He bent forward and licked her ear. "You'll come for me harder than you've ever come in your life." He felt her nod frantically against his shoulder. She was so close now, she couldn't believe it. Oh yes, she would definitely come for him. _

"_And when you look at me at work, all you'll think about is how fucking good we are together." His last statement pushed her over the edge. She went rigid against him before screaming his name and shuddering all around him. Rigsby cursed and gasped as he finally let himself go and emptied deep inside of her. _

_They shook against each other as they slowly came down. Grace could feel his legs trembling as his orgasm drained the last of his strength. His head fell against her shoulder and she gently stroked his sweaty hair. "Sweet man," she murmured softly, loving that even in his weakened state, he still held her up in the protective ring of his arms. He gently pulled her from the wall and hugged her to him, still breathing raggedly against her. _

_He pulled his head up and gazed at her. "I'm still not through with you," he whispered hotly. "But I'll let you name the next place I take you." _

_She hummed and shivered before pulling his lips to hers. She already had a new favorite activity: kissing her partner for hours on end. She loved the softness of his lips surrounded by the scratchiness of his dark stubble. She loved moving her lips to each side of his mouth, exploring how the prickles felt against her cheeks and nose. She supposed it was exactly like kissing any other clean-shaven man, but she'd never noticed before. Hell, compared to Wayne, she never noticed anything about any man before. Her previous kisses and sexual encounters had been normal acts that came with relationships, not soul-shaking events that rocked her whole world. Now, every single inch of her lover represented acres of wondrous discovery. She wanted to know every hair on his head, every freckle, every scar. She wanted to map out every smooth muscle, every plane, every curve. She wanted to bottle the cleft in his chin. She wanted to capture his scent in her hands. She wanted to paint her apartment walls in the same color blue as his eyes. She wanted it all. This wonderful man holding her in his arms and asking her a question. _

"_What?" she murmured, still planting kisses on his face. _

"_Where should I take you next?" he repeated playfully. _

"_Hmmm. Bed. Take me to bed. I want to hold you," she answered. _

_Rigsby rumbled his approval and walked back to her room, gently laying her down and locking her body in his arms. He made love to her again, slowly, sweetly. They came gently together, their groans never seeing the light of day as they were swallowed in a long kiss. Afterwards, they fell apart exhausted. _

Grace shook herself from her reverie, her eyes focusing once again on Wayne. His breathing was slow and even now. She reached out and ran her fingers along his throat, just like she'd wanted to last night at the bar. Even though they'd made love for hours on end since then, she still thrilled at such a simple, intimate touch. She'd so often wanted to, now she could. It gave her goosebumps. He turned his head at the feel of her fingers and looked at her. She saw happiness in his eyes, and something far more intense behind it. What was he thinking about?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rigsby had always considered himself a simple man. Not intellectually, but as far as tastes and habits go, he was pretty straight-forward: sports on weekends, good food, cold beer, decent books and someday maybe a little family in a pretty white house, God willing. And that was good enough for him. No drugs, no excessive booze, no womanizing, no violence outside of what was required in his job, no gambling, nothing. He got along just fine without any of that crap, thank you.

Not anymore. Now he was nothing short of a depraved addict. This addiction clawed at his brain and tore at his body. It clouded his judgment. It electrified his nerves. It blurred his vision. It destroyed him with pleasure and laid him to waste.

For the last nine months he'd kept a tenuous hold on it. It bothered him, but he was able to perform his duties, eat normally, and sleep fairly regularly, if occasionally tormented by dreams. This siren substance had attracted him to no end, but her sultry song had never called to him directly, so he managed to keep himself in line.

Not anymore. Now this siren was not just calling his name, but screaming it. She begged him, she cried out to him, she welcomed him in every conceivable way and he was powerless to do anything but throw himself at her feet and hope she took pity on his lovesick soul. Even knowing that sirens only wanted men dead and broken on the rocky shores of their island, he still had no choice. He was beaten. He was hers. And with one lazy flick of her finger, she could break him in half.

Grace.

Oh God, how he loved Grace. But it was more than that. It was worse than that. Now he'd had a taste of her. It was bad enough before when he could smell her skin, now he could run his tongue from her throat to her thighs. It had been torture imagining what her breasts looked like before, now he knew that tweaking her nipples brought the cutest little gasps from her lips. It had been wonderful to watch her smile at something he'd said before, now he'd felt her smooth tummy contract with giggles when he tickled her ribs.

He was no longer a simple man. He was a slave. He was a whore. He needed her with a ferocity that scared him to death. He didn't dare think about the things he would do for her. The laws he'd break. The pride and self-respect he'd throw away. The gods that he'd forsake. All for her. Grace. He'd kill for her. He'd die for her. That dead, distant orb in the sky had nothing on her smile. _That _was his sunshine. He could bask in it for the rest of his life and be nothing short of deliriously happy.

She was looking at him now as they lay in her bed, running her fingers down his neck and smiling at him sleepily. Did she know? Could she sense how completely she owned him? Did she care? For the last few hours, he'd been hell-bent on _making_ her care. As well as slaking his addiction, he'd tried to brand her. As he thrust into his sweet angel, he'd willed her to only want him for the rest of her life. He wanted her to equate sex with _him_, something only he could give her instead of 50% of the population. When he kissed her, he hoped that he infected her with his desperation and lust. He prayed that as they moved together, their combined sweat, saliva and come would distill an elixir so powerful that it would bind them, even when they were apart.

Suddenly he believed in voodoo. Suddenly he believed alchemy. Anything that would make Grace Van Pelt love him even a little, he would instantly convert to.

She was still smiling at him, laying on her stomach with her other arm nestled to her chest. Amazingly, he felt himself stir again. He couldn't help it. It was her. She could make him do anything, including produce an endless supply of hard-ons.

Her eyes wandered down his body and giggled at his hardening state.

"Again? I don't think I can move, sweetie." Rigsby couldn't see it, but he knew her tummy was quivering with her giggles. He reached out and traced her hip.

"Then stay where you are, just raise your hips," he whispered smilingly.

Her eyes grew round and her lips puckered in surprise. She said nothing, but slowly raised up on her knees, arching her back and pushing up on her elbows.

"Like this?" she asked.

His cock jolted hard at the sight. Grace on her hands and knees. Waiting for him. Jesus Christ.

He pulled himself up and crawled behind her. His hands slid over her hips and ass and he groaned at her submissive position and how fucking hard it made him. His hand slipped between her thighs and rimmed her pussy, still just as hot and wet as when he left it. She gave him a sexy little moan and raised her hips higher, giving him better access. She looked at him over her shoulder and her expression stopped him cold. She looked…nervous.

"Grace?" he pulled back and rubbed her back reassuringly. He would stop immediately if she wasn't comfortable with this. She just had to say. His eyes searched hers questioningly.

She smiled and swallowed. "I just usually…don't…do it this way. It scares me a little."

He instantly pulled back and moved to join her at the top of the bed, but she put her hands over his on her hip, stilling him.

"Please? I want it with you. I trust you. Just…be gentle?" Her tiny voice nearly destroyed him. He learned down and kissed her lower back.

"I promise. Show me, Grace. Show me how you want it."

Her smile grew in confidence and she nodded. She resettled her knees and offered herself to him. "Slowly at first," she whispered. "Tease me a little."

He smiled and brought his raging erection to her entrance. He played with her a bit, gently rubbing the head over her slick folds and throbbing clit. She sighed with pleasure.

"Yeah. Like that. Mmmmm, Wayne. You feel so good," she was practically purring.

Her voice was so heavy with sex that he nearly came right there on her ass. Hold it together, man, he thought.

He entered her slowly, those tight walls feeling just like they did their first time. He just couldn't understand it. They'd had sex a dozen times since then and she was every bit as tight as she was when she hadn't had sex in a year. He grunted as the most beautiful place on earth opened to him, adjusted to him, pulled him deeper. He inhaled sharply.

"Baby, tell me. Is that too much?" He bit out through clenched teeth.

She sighed softly. "No, it's perfect. You're perfect," she looked over her shoulder and rotated her hips back against his, taking all of him. He hissed and riveted his hands on her waist. "More, please," she asked sweetly.

He nodded and plunged again slowly, building up an agonizingly lazy rhythm. Grace hummed and cooed, adorable sounds that made all others in Wayne's past sound like cheap, overacted porn. Her sounds were soft and real. She only screamed and cried out when she lost control. Her crescendo. He could elicit an entire symphony from her, from the soft beginning to the shattering end. She was music itself. So he played her.

He picked up his pace by a fraction, alternating his thrusts from slow and deep to quick and shallow. He couldn't hear himself as gravelly words escaped the prison of his teeth and fell over his lips in a hiss, but Grace did.

"mine…mine…mine…love you so much…gorgeous…sweet…no one else…_mine_!"

Grace heard. She heard their sincerity and shuddered under him in ecstasy. He was claiming her. Oh, God. Her body responded to his ownership and tightened around him in wordless agreement. And he loved her. She'd known it before, but to hear it again with no drugs, no hypnosis, just him in the throes of passion, made her head tip back and her eyes flutter shut. Her loved her and she was his. She called out her answer to his claim.

"Yessssss!" Her first-ever orgasm in this position ripped through her and she bucked backwards against his hips. He plunged deep just as her core constricted and every inch of him was squeezed and pulled inward. Rigsby roared. His semen was strangled out of his cock and he nearly fainted as pleasure battered his body in violent waves. His head snapped back and he screamed her name over and over.

Blackness overtook them both as they fell to their sides, Grace curled in the spoon of his body. As the storm of their climax retreated into smaller waves lapping gently over their bodies, sleep took them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_7:34PM_

Grace sat back into the bubbly warmth of her bath and sighed gratefully as her muscles went lax in the heat. She was wonderfully sore from lips to calves. Her fingers wandered to her mouth as her smile made her wince slightly. Wayne had certainly done a number on them. They were swollen and raw and sensitive to her touch. _Good_, she smirked. She lifted her leg from the water and lazily sponged it off with her favorite luffa and some peach soap. Long baths were one of her weaknesses, and with the boy out of the house, she could draw one without fear that he'd swoop in and crack her bathtub in half with another passionate coupling.

She'd sent him to pick up their SUV from the bar, then back to his place to get some clothes. He had stared at her in panic when she told him to go. She grinned at his totally irrational fear that, after a day and night of total life-altering intimacy, she'd send him packing. Instead she smacked him lightly on the ass and giggled.

"I don't mean _leave_ leave, Wayne. I mean go get our car, then go home and get some clothes. I want to go out to dinner since you won't let me finish a meal in this house."

His face lit up like a small city. He'd called a cab, dressed, then yanked her naked body into his arms one more time before the taxi rolled up.

"Be back soon," he whispered before dropping his head to her stomach and swirling his tongue in her navel. She laughed as he groaned hungrily. "God, you taste good."

"Hurry back," she giggled as he set her down.

That had been over an hour ago.

The sponge felt soft and pliant as she raised her other leg and lathered it gently. Soapy water ran off in rivulets down her calf and into the arc of her knee before rejoining the lake of the bath via her thigh.

How much of her sweat was running off with it? How much of his? She shivered as she considered how much of him had been transferred to her since last night. The cop in her couldn't help but think of bodies from cases they'd covered. Bodies with the DNA of someone else covering every inch of them. True, she didn't have much anymore as the bath carried away most of his presence, but right now he was out there somewhere, covered from head to toe in hers. She felt a strange sense of territorial pride at the thought. No one else could have him now, he was invisibly tattooed by her.

She sat up, running the sponge over her arms and breasts, noting their over-sensitive reaction to being touched by anything that wasn't him. Odd. Her breasts felt nothing but erotic electricity when he touched them. Now, her skin shied away from her ministrations. It was as if her own body had abandoned her in favor of its new owner. Someone it would obey far more readily then it would her. She wanted to laugh at the idea, but she knew better. He'd claimed her in bed, and she'd agreed with him. Her brain had no choice, really. It was only one organ against the army of her body, and it had surrendered willingly to his touch. Even her brain couldn't hold out for long under such a delicious siege.

She reached into the bubbles and pulled the plug. The tub made an angry burp as it began sucking the water down the drain. Grace stood up and grabbed a towel. She needed to get ready. She knew he wouldn't be gone long and she wanted to be all done up by the time he got back. She smiled to herself as she dried off. She had plans for tonight.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rigsby cursed every second he wasn't with her. The taxi ride to their car took a thousand years. The drive back to his place convinced him that his apartment was actually in Oregon, not across town. The time it took to shower, dress and pack clothes for the weekend felt like a decade. He was annoyed as he turned his head to one side and caught a whiff of his aftershave and astringent soap.

Her smell was gone.

As much as he'd hated to do it, he'd jumped in his shower and washed away all the olfactory evidence of Grace on his skin. He threw shampoo in his hair and scrubbed lather into his body, despising their artificial tang. Honestly, why did scent have to be such an elusive bastard? Why couldn't it be something he could capture and keep with him? Every time he needed to be reminded of her, to be soothed by her, why couldn't her scent be something permanent that he could fold up in his wallet or wear around his neck, ready for those moments? Instead he watched her invisible traces circle the drain and disappear. He turned off the water and dried quickly. He threw on dark jeans and a black shirt before throwing his stuff in a bag and launching himself back into the SUV. He was losing time.

He pulled up to her building and killed the engine. In his rearview mirror, he saw his suit hanging from the side window. He hadn't been sure about that. It was only Saturday night, after all. Would she want him to stay tomorrow? Tomorrow night? Monday morning? He desperately hoped so, so he brought his work clothes just in case she allowed it. He tried to tell himself it was no biggie if she didn't. It's not like they'd planned to spend 50 hours straight together. She might have chores to run, or friends to visit. He immediately scolded his foolish heart for feeling abandoned at the thought of her living her life and interacting with other people without him. He didn't own her. He didn't want to. But damn if he didn't feel instantly lost without her.

He jumped out of the car and tried not to race to her door like an over-excited dog. He used the keys she'd tossed to him and opened her door, instantly inhaling deeply. Peach and perfume. God, he wanted to roll on every surface until he was covered in these scents again. _Wayne, Jesus_, he admonished himself. _You really are a dog._

"Grace?" he called out, throwing her keys on the dining table and shutting the door.

"Be out in a sec!" she answered from her room. He started to walk back to it, but she called out again. "And don't come back here! It's a surprise."

"Kay," he said. Instead he went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass and some OJ. He noticed as he poured some that the mess from breakfast had been cleaned up in his absence. He cursed silently. He'd meant to do that for her. It was the least he could do since he destroyed half her flatware and mucked up her floor. He made a mental note to take her to Pottery Barn. She'd have a whole new set of stuff.

He downed the juice and poured another glass. He hadn't given a single thought to food all day, but his stomach alerted him to the fact that he was starving. No dinner last night, not much breakfast this morning and no lunch had made him ravenous. He was glad about her suggestion to go out and eat. Despite his famished state, he didn't think he could sit through an entire meal without attacking Grace again. He shook his head. Since when did his libido become so crazy? Since when did his self-control decide to take a vacation to Barbados and leave him a howling, needy wreck? But he knew already. The last 24 hours proved to him that he might as well go out and buy a collar and chain for himself. Wuff.

"You ready?" Grace's voice startled him out of his thoughts and he turned from the fridge to face her.

_Oh, dear God. _

Déjà vu.

A red dress. _The_ red dress. She was wearing that hail Mary, love you forever, totally indecent, completely edible, should be illegal, fuck her in front of everyone and who cares if they see it, red dress. His legs turned to jelly.

"No," was all he said.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

His expression caused her breath to hitch. Oh, yes. She'd definitely made the right choice. She knew from all the months ago how much he'd liked this dress. The way his eyes had tried to look everywhere else told her as much. Now he was allowed to look as much as he liked and damn if she didn't thrill at the look on his face now.

And it wasn't just his face that thrilled her.

He was in dark clothes again. Jeans that pulled against his muscular legs and a black shirt that couldn't hide the definition in his arms. His blue eyes flashed brightly against the blackness of his outfit. In other words, he was too sexy for words.

She felt her heart spike in her chest.

"No," he said to her.

She frowned. That wasn't the reaction she'd expected. "No you're not ready?"

He shook his head exactly once. "No, you can't wear that dress."

Her frown deepened and she looked down at the outfit in question. "You don't like it? I thought you-,"

He was suddenly right in front of her and she gasped as he lifted her up by her hips and set her down on the counter. He pulled her legs apart and wedged himself deep between them. A moan escaped her lips as the rough fabric of his jeans pushed against her thighs and the thin layer of her panties. He cupped the back of her head and kissed her like he hadn't seen her in a year.

She broke away from him and smiled against his lips. "So you _do_ like it?"

He nipped her lips and ground himself against her. "I'll never make it if you wear this tonight. Go change."

She giggled and nipped him back. "Nope. I bought it for you. I'm wearing it for you. I'm not changing, so you'll just have to behave."

"How am I supposed to be a gentleman when you're dressed like this?" His fingers were working their way up her thighs and grazing under the fabric. His voice had the auditory quality of a velvet brick. "This dress is just begging to be ripped off."

Grace murmured incoherently as his hands moved higher. Her head tipped back and her hair fell away from her throat, revealing his collection of bites that she'd artfully tried to conceal. He couldn't help himself as he leaned forward and pressed chaste kisses against each mark. She grabbed his shoulders, leaning back against the counter as he peppered her neck. Her perfume filled his nostrils and he growled contentedly, happy to be immersed in it once again.

"No," she whispered softly, pushing at his arms. He instantly pulled back and looked at her in concern. She smiled at his worry and pecked his cheek. "Food, Wayne. Food."

He smiled sheepishly and lifted her off the counter and gently back to her feet. "Fine. But if I end up jumping you at our table, just remember that I warned you."

Grace laughed as she smoothed out her dress. "I'll risk it. Right now, just feed me."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At first Rigsby thought that going out in public would help lessen his irrational desire to strip Grace naked and ravish her in a corner booth of a fusion restaurant, but as he watched her walk in front of him as they approached a pan-Asian place that she liked, his need to do just that merely increased. What the hell? Twenty-four hours ago, he had seen sex in public as a juvenile, tasteless affair. Who couldn't keep it in their pants until they got home? Who ignored the social contract like that and made everyone else witness their tacky groping? Jerkoffs, that's who. Normal people did it behind closed doors.

His own inner voice mocked him now. Not so high and mighty now, was he? In fact, Yesterday Rigsby was laughing his ass off as Today Rigsby imagined fingering Grace senseless under the table while she stroked him into oblivion with her nimble little hands. His tactical mind ran through every semi-private place in a restaurant he could conceivably pin her to a wall. What was _wrong _with him? It was dinner! And he was 31, not 15. He could control himself long enough to sit with his girl and have a meal together. He had all weekend. He could take a break. Not to mention that Grace would probably find the whole idea disgusting anyway. That thought calmed him a little. She was lovely and sweet and deserved to be treated like the lady she was. He'd be nothing but respectful. _So keep your shit in check, man._

He shook his head and guided her through the door, his hand on the small of her back. She looked up at him over her shoulder and smiled sweetly. God, give him strength.

The waitress led them to a corner booth in the dimly lit room. _Of course_, Rigsby thought exasperatedly. How much temptation could he possibly withstand? Grace snuggled against him and opened her menu, her finger and eyes sliding down the page as she read. From his vantage, he could see her cleavage pressed invitingly against the V of her neckline. He smothered a groan and instead placed a small kiss on the top of her head. She looked up and smiled.

"What are you going to have?" she asked.

He read her menu over her head. "I have no idea. I don't have much experience with Asian food."

She chuckled. "Do you want me to order for you? I'll use all my powers of observation to guess what you like."

He kissed her head again. "Go for it. If I were a noodle dish, what would I be?"

Grace turned back to the menu and cleared her throat. "Hmmmm. Let's see…Wayne… Waaaaayne-nah…" She dragged his name out as she scrolled the various choices.

"Is he kung pow? No, that's not quite right. Iiiiiiis he moo goo gai pan? Noooo…too tame."

Without looking away from her menu, Grace slid one of her hands off the table and into his lap, her fingers moving lightly up and down his jeans. He flinched, but said nothing.

"This is a tricky one," she murmured to him, still reading. "I think you're more of a curry man. Something…hot." She increased the pressure on his leg as her hand wandered deeper between his thighs. Just when he thought it couldn't get any more unbearable, she gently hooked her bare knee over his, spreading her legs just a tiny bit.

Just then the waitress appeared again. Rigsby thanked God that the table was high and the tablecloth long. She couldn't see the brain-destroying teasing going on just under that white linen. "Are you ready to order?"

Grace nodded, still caressing him between his legs. "Please. I'll have the pad thai and he'll have the green curry."

Oblivious, the waitress nodded as she wrote the order. "Any drinks?"

Grace palmed his erection gently. _Fuck!_ He nearly slammed his fists on the table. He had no idea how he managed to keep still and quiet. "Tiger beer," she smiled innocently.

The waitress smiled. "All right. Be back in a jiff." And she disappeared.

Rigsby turned his body into hers and cupped her face before kissing her savagely. Her hand didn't let up, so he captured it in one of his own.

"You don't want to play with me like that, baby," he growled into their kiss.

She broke away and gave him a cute little pout. "But I like playing with you."

"Not here," he murmured.

She gave him the most carnivorous smile he'd ever seen. "So you weren't thinking about it from the minute we left my place?"

The knee hooked over his pulled slightly, opening his legs wider as well as hers. All he had to do was look down to see her dress riding up her thighs. His breath was getting shaky.

"I was," he admitted. "But that doesn't mean I'll act on it."

She giggled and kissed the tip of his nose. "Such a good boy all of a sudden?" Her arms went around his back and smoothed down his shirt. He felt her shifting next to him, her legs folding down, off the bench.

"Then I guess I'll have to be a bad girl."

He gasped raggedly as she slipped down under the table, underneath the linen. Her arms slithered from his back and into his lap, still not visible to anyone except him. She gave him no warning before she massaged him roughly through his pants.

Rigsby hissed and jumped several inches.

"Don't move," she whispered from under the table. "Look straight ahead."

Rigsby clenched his hands on the table and strangled a groan in his throat as he felt his zipper open and two warm hands reach in. She pulled him from the confines of his boxers and stroked him gently, not that he needed it. He'd had a permanent hard-on the minute he saw her in that dress.

"Grace, _Jeee-sus_," he whispered hoarsely, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"Shhhh," was all he got before he felt her hot little mouth suckle softly at his tip. His legs and hips spasmed at the contact. He looked around wildly. He was positive that every single person in that joint knew what was happening. His body was on fire and surely that meant everyone could see his pathetic struggle as he tried to stay calm and still as he was sucked like a popsicle. But no one was even looking his way. For all they knew, he was just a guy patiently waiting for his girlfriend to come back from the bathroom. His short nails broke the skin of his palms in his fists.

She picked up her pace, her mouth pulling him in and out rapidly. The suction increased as she pulled as much of him in as possible. His groan was barely audible, but she paused to lick him and whisper, "Hush, good boy. You have to be quiet."

His hand shot under the tablecloth and gripped her hand tightly. "You're killing me," he whispered.

She swirled her tongue around his length. "Then I'll make it a mercy killing." And with that, her speed and suction exploded. He was pulled and sucked and licked with such ferocity that his eyes rolled back and his breathing hitched. He felt his climax building quickly in his balls, but he couldn't warn her, she'd insisted on his silence. So when he exploded into her mouth in a shattering orgasm, he bit his own cheek and squeezed his eyes shut to keep from screaming. Grace didn't miss a beat. She caught every drop of him as he emptied himself onto her tongue. She massaged his thighs gently, still moving up and down slowly on him until, with one lingering suck, she released him. He felt her dab him dry with a napkin before carefully tucking him back in his pants. She slithered back up onto the bench beside him, as if she'd never left. She hugged him around his back again and nestled her head into his neck. She inhaled deeply and burrowed her nose against his skin. His smell was back. His tangy, soapy, male smell that drove her so crazy.

"How was it?" she asked, planting a kiss against his jugular.

His breathing was still jagged as he croaked out a chuckle. "I'm dead, remember? You killed me." He took a deep breath before adding, "It was unbelievable. Please don't get offended, but you suck me like I've never been sucked in my life."

The waitress appeared with their beers and set them up, disappearing just as quickly.

"Wayne?" Grace whispered against him.

"Yeah, baby." He wrapped his arms around her as well, hugging her tight.

"I love you."

Her sentence cut through his blissful haze like a broadsword. _What? _


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"Again," he ordered.

She gasped and whispered it to him just as he plunged deep into her body.

"_Again!_" he almost hissed it.

She gripped his shoulders, moaning the words in long, drawn-out syllables.

He'd let them finish dinner. He might have just been smacked with a verbal sledgehammer, but he knew they had to eat. So he'd watched her through disbelieving and unblinking eyes as she delicately chewed her pad thai. Some small part of his brain told him that he liked his curry. He liked how the spice was slow to heat up, that it built a lazy fire on his tongue that fizzled and burned hotter with each bite. She'd been right. He was a curry man. He paid the check without a word and took her by the hand to their SUV parked in the lot by the restaurant. Thank God for tinted windows, because he wasn't waiting another second for this, not even if it meant public indecency. He'd opened the back door, pulled them both onto the plush bench and started up a desperate make out session. He'd slid his tongue past her lips, heating her mouth with spices and unfettered passion. He'd picked her up and settled her firmly into his lap, pulling her legs wide across him. But his kiss never broke. He wouldn't release the lips that had whispered she loved him. No way.

"I need you," he groaned against her lips, he hands sliding restlessly over the material of her dress.

She arched into him, grinding her pelvis into his, letting her dress slide completely up her thighs and to her hips. She held his head in her hands and stroked his cheeks with her thumbs. "I need you too."

He lifted just enough to undo his jeans and push them and his boxers down to his calves. His erection sprang free and stood thick and impressively from his lap. Grace moaned at the sight and enveloped him in her warm hands, stroking him firmly. Quickly. Rigsby cursed, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a pleasurable wince.

"Lose the dress before I rip it off," he growled, pulling her to him, kissing her throat hungrily.

She shook her head. "No time. I need you now."

Instead she peeled her dress away from her thighs and up to her waist, exposing the black panties currently grinding into his lap. She pulled his head from her and leaned back, smiling at him as she slowly peeled the straps from her shoulders, down her breasts, down to her waist. Rigsby gasped and his cock jumped. There she was, naked, save for a red ribbon of fabric around her waist, like a bow. Gift wrapped. He felt his mouth water. He looked down at her panties, fingering roughly along their border. She felt his thick index finger trespass underneath and lightly trace her slick entrance. Her mouth dropped open and she instinctively pushed forward.

"Say it again," he whispered.

Grace didn't understand. Her brain was muddled with pleasure and she wasn't sure he heard him clearly.

"What?" she murmured, pushing harder, silently asking for more.

She uttered a noise of disappointment when his fingers pulled away. He grabbed her by the shoulders and brought her face within an inch of his. She suddenly felt so small in his arms. A slender redhead in a red dress against a powerful dark man in black clothes. As a child, her science book showed an illustration of a tiny red star being helplessly pulled into the well of an enormous black hole.

She felt that way right now. A tiny red star with no hope of escaping. She was in too deep, got too close. The attraction had been too much to withstand and she'd let that fact slip just before their food arrived. She'd told him. At the time, it seemed natural. At the time, it seemed fair. He had already confessed his feelings so many times, in so many ways. She'd kept a better lid on her affection, but it never meant that it wasn't there, simmering under the surface.

So she told him.

And he hadn't spoken since. Not really. He'd said a word or two in the Asian place and was whispering excitedly to her now, but he hadn't replied to her one little statement since she whispered it to him almost 45 minutes ago.

She figured he was processing.

Fair enough. She'd had almost seven months of processing since he'd first said it to her. So she accepted his silence and intense gaze during dinner. Now she felt his reply building in his eyes, a mere inch away from hers.

"Say it again."

Grace said nothing at first. She moved forward slowly, inching her knees on either side of his hips until the apex of their thighs were aligned. She reared up slightly, still letting him hold her shoulders, and gently moved her panties aside. Still silent, she grasped him firmly, positioning him underneath her. She sank slowly, letting herself adjust to the tight fit, watching his face as it contorted with pleasure. He fought to keep his eyes from rolling back. He wanted to look at her. He wanted her response. When he bottomed out inside of her, she cupped his cheeks and whispered to him.

"I love you."

It set him off. Having been so still and quiet underneath her, Rigsby suddenly exploded to life, gripping her hips and launching himself upwards in a desperate thrust.

"Again," he whispered, pumping wildly against her, using his legs and the bench as leverage to push up as hard and as fast as possible.

Grace cried out as her legs were pushed open wider, as her inner muscles pulled taut against this new position. "I love you."

He was possessed. His speed increased, and yet there was no telltale sign of him overstimulating. His frenzied pace would have sent almost any other man over the edge after a few short minutes. But he didn't slow down, nor was his finished with his demand.

"Again!" he roared at her, pulling her forward and pulling one of her aching nipples into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the pebbled flesh.

"Ah…God!" she writhed on top of him. Her hands found the buttoned sides of his shirt and she didn't even think before she ripped them apart, flaying the fabric to either side and running her hands greedily over his hard chest. "Wayne, I love you."

His lips moved to her other breast, his tongue working its magic over her aching skin while his hands held her firmly in place on his raging cock.

And yet he still would not slow down as he thrust rapidly.

"_AGAIN_!" he nearly screamed it. It echoed loudly in the close confines of the car as Grace's sobs punctuated it in smaller, softer notes.

She pulled his head from her breast and kissed his mouth. Despite their desperate rutting, she made her kiss soft. She moved her lips slowly over his, tasting their exterior before gently plumbing into his mouth. Her tongue followed the rows of his teeth, to soft walls of his cheeks, finally to the firm sweetness of his tongue.

Her gentle explorations slowed Rigsby's pace. He suddenly seemed to come back to himself, to come back to her. She saw more than raw need and wonder in his eyes now. She saw Wayne. She continued to kiss him deeply for a moment longer before fulfilling his request.

"I love you."

A whisper against his lips. Barely audible. Their movements slowed even more and they now gently pushed against each other in deep, languid strokes. He held her head in his hands, starting unflinchingly into her eyes, but they remained clear. She placed her hands over his heart. It thumped against her palm as if acknowledging her presence. She smiled. "Such a good heart," she murmured, turning her head into one of his hands and kissing his palm.

A ragged and broken sob left his body. She whipped back to face him and her hands instantly left his chest and cupped his jaw. His sob made his entire body convulse under hers, and yet his thrusts did not stop. Tears sprang in his eyes, his head dropped in her hands and away from her gaze. His arms went around her and she was pulled into a tight bear hug. He only cried out once, but his shuddering muscles continued to undulate under her like violent ocean waves. She held him tightly, refusing to let him go. Something had just happened inside that spiky head of his and she was going to let him take what he needed until he told her what it was.

He suddenly stiffened and arched against her. His head snapped back and he roared. Grace felt him spasm and come deep in her womb and she couldn't help her moan of primal lust as he exploded in her body.

He clutched her to him for a long time, his head lodged firmly at the base of her throat. She wrapped her arms around his neck and placed tiny kisses on his temple while she murmured soft, meaningless words in his ear, like she would to a child. The words were muted, calming, unheard. The low, feminine tone of her voice made his vice-like grip on her lessen and the tension in his arms slowly melt away. At some point, she wasn't sure when, she'd started rocking them. Very slowly. Like how tree branches sway in the breeze. She held his head, murmured her love, and rocked him soothingly.

When he pulled back, he gazed at her in defeated awe.

"Again. Please?"

He broke her heart. His question was so small, so frightened. His eyes held terrified joy. How could this big man be so afraid of her little sentence? Of her little heart? How could they reduce him like this? Almost break him like this?

She felt overwhelmed with power. A little princess suddenly given the keys to a kingdom and told she must be queen. The acres of her lover that she was so eager to explore were suddenly handed to her. Her kingdom. And the weight of that trust, of that responsibility, amazed her. Looking at him now, she felt nothing but honored and unworthy. Did he always give so much of himself to his lovers? Were all of the women in his life made to feel this...bound? That was it, the word she was looking for. She felt bound to him. Intertwined. They were locked together, swirling and joined like an ancient Celtic knot. No beginning, no end. Separate pieces braided into each other. Even now, the metaphor was reality, their bodies still locked together, their arms encircled. She shook her head slowly before giving him a dazzling smile.

"I. Love. You." She punctuated every word clearly, slowly. There would be no misunderstanding. No way.

He blinked. And slowly, very slowly, his own smile grew and matched her own. "I love you too."

Grace couldn't help it. Wanting to keep him smiling more than anything, she flipped her hair and shrugged her shoulders like he'd said the most obvious thing in the world. "Duh."

Laughter peeled from the SUV as Rigsby tickled her without pity.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_Sunday 8:32AM_

Rigsby woke up with his fantasy fulfilled. Grace's bed. Two bodies. And a tangle of red hair scattered across his arm and chest. Arms and legs twisted together. Warm. Happy. Naked. Even half-asleep, he almost howled with joy.

He looked down at the sleeping woman draped across his body. Her hands gripped him by the shoulders and she was using his chest as a pillow. Her legs interlaced with his, smooth and shapely, like warm marble. She made almost no noise as she breathed, just tiny pushes of air breezing across his pectorals. More than anything, he _felt_ her breathe. Her slim ribcage lifted against his in shallow undulations, faster and smaller than his as his larger lungs inflated in his barrel chest. He picked up a lock of her hair lying across it and held it up to the light: fire, ox blood, carrot, carnelian, burgundy, strawberry. The individual strands varied in a dozen colors. He planned to identify every single one. He spent almost 20 minutes immersed in these little details.

What really got his goat was the she had him pinned. An adorable little feather weight, earnestly fighting a big, bad man in a heavy weight arena. Her slim arms would need to triple in size to equal his, yet she had him trapped. Gladly. He felt lightheaded and smug all at once, proud that she wanted to trap him in the first place. Like he was going anywhere. After all, he'd been positive that even if they ever got to this point in their relationship—namely a romantic one—that he'd be one doing the pinning. Not that he hadn't hoped for her affection, obviously he had, but he'd never considered for a millisecond that she'd feel as strongly as he did. Ever. She would like. He would adore. She would be fond. He would self-enslave. She would lay supine. He would twist into a human cage. Enjoy his company. Die without her.

He had expected nothing less than this asymmetry. And it was perfectly acceptable. If she would deign it, he would absorb every drop of warmth she gave him and in return, he would flood her with his love.

And pin her to their bed every second she was in it.

But she pinned him first.

It knocked him for six.

And she loved him. _That _was the gooey, warm center of this whole doughnut. She. Loved. Him. We were galaxies away from fondness and affection now. She didn't deign. She dove. Just like he dove. They fell together. For each other. He had _never _expected that. Last night at the restaurant, she'd gone down on him like his filthiest wet dream, then she held him in his aftermath and whispered that she loved him.

For a moment, he was terrified. Not of her words, but that he was hallucinating them. Or dreaming again. Or suffering a stroke. Something serious and totally mental. Because no man gets a reality that sweet. Dream women weren't real, hence their name. They didn't invite you into their home, fuck your brains out, suck you stupid, then whisper that they loved you. Sorry, but he already saw that _Red Shoe Diaries_ episode. He knew better.

_Wayne, I love you._

He'd heard the words a few times before. Girlfriends of the past. He had traded these words with them, like people trade Christmas and baseball cards. He was pretty sure he meant them at the time. After all, his taste in women was fair. By and large, they had treated him well and he'd done the same for them. They'd been pretty, smart, some of them funny, some of them sweet. Almost all of them had been forward, finding him in a crowd. They flirted and giggled. He'd been charmed. His height and boyish smile usually meant he wasn't lonely if he didn't want to be. The problem was that, upon finding him, those women already had certain ideas about who he was.

Sure, he was big. Sure, he was strong. Sure, he could pick them up, toss them on a bed and satisfy them within an inch of their life. No problem.

But what didn't gel with their preconceptions was his shyness. His insecurities. And, bizarrely, his interest and deference to their thoughts and opinions. He could blush. Apparently men who grew passed six feet aren't supposed to blush. He could cry. Apparently men who can bench 200 lbs. aren't supposed to cry. He got upset and uncertain during arguments. Apparently he was supposed to throw a chair through a window, call them a whore, then rip the door off its hinges as he stormed off to a bar to drown his sorrows with other real men.

None of them had ever said as much, but he wasn't stupid. They had dated him expecting a macho man and instead they got a cuddler.

Now it was his turn to choose.

And his choice loved him back.

Yeah. He might have overreacted a little. He kinda dragged her to the car and fucked her so hard and so desperately that he hadn't been able to take care of her like he should have. As shattering as sex was with Grace, it was hard to judge what gave him more pleasure—coming or watching her come. That's why he always made sure they both happened. But not last night in the car. He dropped the ball.

He'd felt so awful that he'd brought her home and spent three hours making it up to her. He strung himself out for ages, pushing her over the brink again and again until his body exploded without his permission. He was pretty sure she forgave him, not that his sweet baby would ever hold it against him. She was too kind. Too understanding. Another reason he pleasured her into a boneless haze. For selfish reasons, but also because she deserved every earthly pleasure he was fit to give. Her year of celibacy—though exhilarating to him—was far too long for an angel with a sinful body to go without a man's touch. _His _touch. His chest made a purring, groaning sound as he imagined the things he'd do to her for the _next_ twelve months.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She woke up on a warm, hard pillow that was rumbling in her ear. A lion's purr. She didn't open her eyes, but she smiled at the sound as it vibrated against her cheek. She'd woken just like she had the morning before. Early and in the warmest, sweetest embrace she'd ever known. The clock told her it was 6:47. Time to get up. Or so the routine would dictate. But this time, she closed her eyes in defiance. Screw that clock. It was Sunday. It was Wayne. She wasn't moving a muscle.

She'd snuggled deeper against him, throwing her arms over his torso and burrowing her cheek into his chest. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Madly in love. Sleeping happily in each other's arms. She was almost giddy.

His reaction last night still had her reeling. They'd made love like it was the end of the world. Frantically. Angrily. Desperately. And yet they'd laughed and cuddled and kissed languidly like time no longer existed. She was delighted to discover such a dichotomy existed. Passionate comfort. Soft ferocity. Endless split-seconds.

Heaven.

Her own little purr answered his.

She felt his chest muscles tighten as he craned his head up. "Hey, pretty kitty," he drawled.

She lifted her head and smiled at him. "Hey, yourself."

She propped her chin on his chest and watched as he fanned a lock of her hair between his fingers. "Watcha thinkin' about?"

He smiled. "Gooey, happy, unmanly thoughts."

She giggled and kissed his chest. "Gooey, happy thoughts are the best kind. Fie on any man who doesn't have them."

Rigsby chuckled. "Fie? English Lit. 101 rears its oldy timey head."

Grace punched him lightly in the ribs. "Hush, you. 'Fie' is a great word. And fie on you for teasing me about it."

"You gonna fie me to death here?"

She gave him a truculent pout and moved to get up from the bed. "Oh, no. I'll just get up and take my fies with me into the kitch---eeeek!"

Rigsby grabbed her by the elbows and flipped her so quickly that she was trapped under his weight before she realized what happened.

He gazed down at her as she squealed and bucked under him. "Fie on you for trying to leave me."

She instantly stilled underneath him. She brought her hands to either side of his face and held him gently. "I'd never leave you, Wayne. I love you." She turned her head and kissed the column of his forearm next to her head.

Rigsby lowered into a push-up position, his lips an inch from hers. "Again."

She smiled, staring at the blurry face before her. "You'll get sick of hearing it at this rate."

He shook his head. She could only see dark skin and blue eyes. "Never. Again."

"I love you."

"Say my name."

"Wayne. I love you, Wayne."

He felt the words breeze across his own lips. He inhaled them. "Promise?"

Another sweet giggle. "Cross my heart."

"I love you too."

"I know."

"How long?" He was genuinely curious. Everyone else had known forever.

"Since the first week."

"God, really? Was I that bad?"

She lifted that inch and kissed him chastely. "You were that sweet."

He huffed. "Sweet."

She could hear his light annoyance and sought to ease it. "Yes, sweet. I like nice, sweet men."

"You know what they say about nice guys finishing last."

She raked her nails through his hair. His eyes fluttered with pleasure. "Bastards never finish at all, Rigsby. They chase women for the sport, not for the trophy."

He smiled despite himself. "So you're my trophy girlfriend?"

"Ha!" she gripped his hair and pulled slightly. He pretended to wince with agony. "Anyway, I hate that saying. Nice guys finish last. It makes men act like jerks."

She raised herself up into him, letting her body slide along his. "I've had men who weren't sweet. Believe me. I want you sweet."

He continued to hold himself just above her. It amazed her how long he'd kept the pose. All of his weight bore down into his arms, yet he didn't seem to notice. Impressive.

"How long have you loved me then?" This also interested him. He had absolutely no clue.

She thought carefully. When she sought his eyes again, she whispered straight to them. "I honestly don't know. At first, I thought you just had a crush on me. We barely knew each other. I was quiet and distant, how could anyone love that?"

He didn't answer. He thought the answer was obvious.

"But the months went by, and you were always there. On stakeouts, in the office, in the field, I could feel you, even when you weren't with me. I felt myself…leaning towards you." She searched for the right words. "And then I felt myself…falling. I knew," she looked down, embarrassed. "I knew you'd catch me."

He didn't answer. Instead, he sank into her and caught her lips. "Always," he whispered. He lifted a fraction again. "Tell me again that you caught me back."

She beamed and complied. "I love you."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

"Well, we're coming down to the bottom of the ninth, mister."

Grace held Rigsby's hand as they walked aimlessly through a small park near her apartment. On weekends, she often came to this place with a book, unfurled a blanket and read for hours. There were lots of trees, lots of birds, she could get lost in her latest choice of chick lit or military history and just let the world roll by. Plus, it was one of the few places she could find where men wouldn't approach her. Every other park gave her this problem. She'd sit with her book and send out Do Not Disturb vibes, only to have some jogger or guy walking his dog see her, take her solitude as a sign, and shamelessly start flirting with her. She felt bad shutting them down. They were probably nice guys trying to meet a nice girl, but the park was supposed to be _her _time. No job, no boss, no irritating thoughts about a tall co-worker with a sweet smile, just her. This park, for whatever reason, gave it to her. But today was dazzlingly different. Today, she used her park to unwind in a different way.

Well, sort of.

Rigsby had taught her in the last two and a half days that there was no such thing as too much sex. He made her want it every second of the day and night. And, to her infinite satisfaction, he was not only eager but able to provide it. She had never, ever known any man with his stamina. From a biological standpoint, it was most impressive. From a crazy-in-love-want-to-touch-him-all-the-time standpoint, it was most convenient. However, it was most inconvenient when they had something serious to talk about. Something decidedly unsexy and best discussed while clothed. In public. With children nearby. And cops. God knows they needed as many disincentives as possible to keep it in their pants since public indecency hadn't stopped them before. Hence her suggestion for a walk in the park. She needed a clear head.

She looked over at him now as they strolled along. He wore a faded blue tee shirt and his dark jeans again. God, he was beautiful. She could let herself think it openly now. Wayne Rigsby, her boyfriend, was beautiful. It shocked her, how good that felt. He looked over at her now and raised a brow in amusement.

"I love when you talk in sports metaphors. It's so hot." He grinned as his hand slid from hers and snaked around her waist, pulling her into his side as the walked. She rested her head against his upper arm, gazing up at the treetops and sighing happily.

"I'll make of note of that for later. Right now, we need to decide what we're going to do tomorrow morning." She tried to sound firm and in control, not dreamy and lazily content. "Do we tell Lisbon?"

Rigsby inhaled slowly. "I dunno, sweetheart, I really don't. I have no interest in lying to her, that's for sure. And Jane will know anyway. God knows what he'll say. But…" He stopped himself.

She looked up at him. "But what?"

He chewed his lip in frustration. Grace ached to reach up kiss the worry right out of him. But that would lead to bad places, so she waited for his answer instead.

"It's just…" Rigsby stopped walking and turned into her, pulling her into a gentle hug. She wrapped her arms around him and cuddled close. "….It's just that I _want _to tell people, Grace. I'm really fighting here. I _know _she might make one of us leave. I _know_ she might choose you since you're the rookie. I _know _us being together will cloud my judgment at work, but dammit…" His hands slid up and cradled her head against him. "…I _want _everyone to know that you're mine."

She chuckled against his chest. "Yours, huh? What am I, a classic car you wanna show off to all your buddies?" She looked up at him playfully. "You're not the boss of me, mister."

He smiled gently, wisely, as he continued to cup her head in his hands. "I think we've established that you are _clearly_ the boss of _me_." His smile grew bigger with each word. Grace couldn't help her blush. He was doing it again, giving himself to her without a single hesitation. It made her dizzy. She hugged him tighter, loving how her arms barely fit around his ribcage.

He continued. "I know what I want, babe, and I know what I fear. I also know that I'm so hopelessly wrapped up in you that I can't make a rational decision. So I'm gonna be a total wuss, here. Tell me what you wanna do, and we'll do it."

Grace moaned in frustration and buried her face in his chest again. "Sure, leave it all up to me. Big baby."

She felt his chuckle against her cheek. She wanted to be annoyed, but just couldn't shake the adoration she felt as she held him in her arms. So she feigned annoyance and huffed loudly.

"Fine. I say…" She flipped wildly through the craziest scenarios she could think of, just to punish him for putting the ball so unceremoniously in her court. "…I say we ask Jane what to do."

_So there! What do you make of that little doozy?_

Grace smirked with good-natured smugness.

She waited for his reaction as she listened to his heartbeat under her ear. She expected him to laugh his ass off at such a silly idea. Involving Jane in anything private was suicide. And Rigsby was right, he would probably know instantly and taunt them horribly until he grew bored with them and moved onto a new game…like telling Lisbon. So, not telling him and praying for a miraculous lapse in his observational skills was the best they could hope for. Obviously a loose canon without a ball is no threat. But loaded? A loose canon got its own metaphor for a reason. Best not give Jane any ammunition.

But Rigsby just _had_ to be full of surprises.

"That's not a bad idea, actually."

Grace snorted. "You're right. It's not a bad idea. It's a totally made-up, funny ha-ha, stupid, joking faux idea that I threw out for comedic value. We're _not _telling Jane."

Rigsby pulled out of their hug and pulled her by her hands to a nearby bench. Once both seated, he turned towards her, his eyes bright with excitement. Next to his tee shirt, they looked even bluer than usual. "But think about it! Jane _will _know. He's deduced much more from total strangers. How long do you think we can hide from him?"

Grace looked down and gave a defeated shrug.

Rigsby nodded. "Exactly. What, 20 seconds? Maybe 25? I'm being generous here. So why not just go to him? Instead of him teasing us for being so furtive and embarrassed, let's use him. Find out what he thinks we should do about Lisbon. What do you think?"

Grace worked the scenario through her mind more carefully. Oooookay, so maybe it wasn't such a crazy notion. It was true, they'd never be able to hide from Jane. And maybe if they enlisted his abilities for good instead of puckish evil, they could actually swing Lisbon in their favor. Maybe she'd let them date on the quiet, as long as they promised to stay professional during work hours. Yeah, okay. Maybe this could work. She looked up and gave Rigsby a measured smile.

"I think it might actually work. He'll know what we should say to her, better than we do, anyway. I think we should talk to Jane first thing tomorrow morning. Agreed?"

Rigsby nodded vigorously. "Definitely." He let out a relieved breath. "Great, we have a plan. Score one us. Now," He swooped in and pressed his forehead against hers. "What else do you normally do on a Sunday?"

She nuzzled her nose against his and giggled. "Oh, all _kinds _of fascinating things."

"Oooooh, do tell." His grin matched hers.

"Well first, I get groceries for the week. How's that for exciting?"

He cupped her cheeks. "My heart's aflutter. What else?"

"Then, I do laundry. Are you sure can take the exhilaration here?"

"I paid for the whole seat, but I'm only using the edge."

She turned her face against his and kissed him quickly. "And finally, if I'm not too exhausted from all those thrills, I come to this park and read."

Rigsby smiled sincerely. "Aw, that's cute. My little bookworm." He gave her his own kiss. A slower, more thorough kiss.

"Well?" she asked against his lips. "You gonna tell me what _you_ do on a Sunday?"

He answered her between the presses of his lips on hers.

"I…"

_kiss_

"…sit in my apartment…"

_kiss_

…watching football…

_kiss_

"…and dreaming of you."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"Seriously, we don't have to do this today. I can come tomorrow after work." Grace said as Rigsby pulled her by the hand into the grocery store.

He turned around, walking backwards as he grabbed her other hand and continued to pull her forwards. "Nope, I won't be responsible for you starving to death. I saw your fridge earlier and it was a sad state of affairs. You need food. Besides," He pulled her to him and gave her ass a quick squeeze. "You won't be alone tomorrow night either, so we might as well go shopping now."

She slapped at his hands playfully. "Bad boy! And who says you'll be with me tomorrow night? Awfully presumptuous there, buster."

Rigsby's eyes sparkled mischievously. He pulled her inside the automatic doors and hugged her next to the giant pyramid of red apples. "Is that so? Gotta hot date, lady?"

Grace's eyes sparkled back. When had she become this teasing? "Different man every night, that's me. Portuguese sailors, lumberjacks, livestock auctioneers, wedding singers, they've all got my number."

Rigsby's laugh boomed throughout the produce section and it triggered a serious giggle fit in Grace. She felt his arms squeeze her even tighter. He looked down at her with pure adoration shining out of his eyes. "God, I love you."

She pulled out of his arms and flipped her hair at him as she picked up a basket. "Get in line behind the wedding singers."

The shopping went much slower than usual, although to be fair, Grace was so set in her dietary routine that she could hit a store with a surgical strike. In, out, done. With Rigsby, their teasing kept stopping them in their tracks. He'd sneak junk food into her healthy items and she'd reprimand him like a child, insisting he put it back. At one point, she needed some pasta noodles from the top shelf and couldn't reach them herself. Rigsby quickly used it as a bargaining chip, informing her that he'd retrieve the pasta if he was allowed to get ice cream.

"Blackmail, Wayne? Would you sink so low?"

He grinned. "It's actually extortion. And yes, yes I would."

She couldn't help it. She stepped into his space and gave a counter-offer. "Hand me my pasta, and you'll get a much better dessert tonight." Her hand dipped under his tee shirt slid along his tight abdomen. She was instantly gratified when she felt him shiver.

His eyes closed briefly as she pet his belly like her favorite puppy, but his combative side wouldn't let him roll over completely. "You know, sex offered for goods and services is highly illegal and as an agent I should warn you that…" He hissed a chuckle when her nails sank warningly into his tender flesh. Grace giggled with him and he obediently reached up and pulled down a packet for her.

"Good boy." She patted his belly and walked on.

After grocery shopping, Rigsby drove her to Pottery Barn over her very sincere objections.

"Wayne, honestly. Don't worry about it! I got those plates in college from Kmart. I'll replace them for $10, no problem. Why are we still walking towards the store?"

Again, Rigsby kept pulling her by the hand. "Nope, sorry. I broke them, I replace them. You don't get to whine about what I replace them with. Now get in here and choose something or I'll choose for you. Pottery Barn does sport memorabilia plates, right?"

Grace laughed, taking long, skipping strides and she tried to keep up with him. "Absolutely. I think they have a 12-piece set of Yogi Berra's personal quotes."

Rigsby turned to Grace and gave her a huge grin. "It's déjà vu all over again."

Grace beamed. "If you come to a fork in the road, take it."

Rigsby fell in love with Grace even more, if that was possible. Who couldn't love a girl who could quote Yogi Berra? "Always go to other people's funerals; otherwise, they won't go to yours."

Grace had to think a minute. "Baseball is ninety percent mental; the other half is physical."

Rigsby was quickly running out. "Ummm…..Never answer an anonymous letter."

Grace squinted and huffed in agitation. "Ummm…oh!...All pitchers are liars or crybabies."

Rigsby held his hands up in defeat. "Sorry, I'm all out. Does that mean we only get a 6-piece set?"

This time, Grace dragged Rigsby by the arm into the store. "Let's just see what they have, shall we?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They got back to Grace's apartment late in the afternoon. Rigsby helped her put away the groceries and they put her brand new plates into the dishwasher for a rinse. Both professed deep sadness and not finding any sports-themed plates, but Grace did find a beautiful set of deep green ceramic flatware that she fell instantly in love with. She tried not to show her interest once she saw the price, but it was too late. Rigsby had seen her gently run her fingers along the bowls and knew they were her favorite. So, with Grace pleading modestly not to do it, Rigsby bought her an 8-piece set of plates, saucers, mugs and bowls in that pattern. Now, she gave him the most beautiful smile and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply.

"I don't deserve them."

He lowered his head to hers. "You deserve everything."

She closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek against his. "I can't imagine what I did to deserve _you_."

Rigsby growled softly in his throat and kissed her jaw. Standing in her kitchen, she let herself slide against him more fully, their hug becoming more intimate. His kisses moved along her throat. She dropped her head back to give him better access. Her eyes wandered shut as his lips and tongue blazed wet fire across her skin. As he followed the necklace of his love bites, he whispered softly, "I've bruised your neck, sweetie. Did I hurt you doing that?"

She shook her head slowly, his kisses having an alcoholic effect on her. "Huh-uh."

Rigsby was licking her throat in earnest now, mumbling almost unconsciously as he went. "You taste so good, Grace. Why can't I get enough of you? How do you do this to me?"

She didn't answer, just slowly turned to jelly as he continued to love her body.

"Grace?"

"Hmmmm?"

"I need you again."

She smiled gently while keeping her eyes closed. "And to think we went three whole hours."

He chuckled against her throat. "We deserve medals."

She giggled. "Commemorative statues."

"Ten feet high in front of the capitol building."

"I'm sure they're being commissioned as we speak."

"Meanwhile," He leaned down and scooped her up in his arms. "I'm going to ravish you silly until dinner time."

She pulled him in for a deep kiss before breaking it to warn him, "If you break any of my new dishes while ravishing me, I'm throwing you out."

He looked suitably chastened as he walked back to her bedroom. "Yes, ma'am."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

There was one particular thing Grace loved about relationships, and that was watching her man get ready in the morning. She couldn't really explain it, but she found the rituals fascinating. The no nonsense showers, the shaving, the hair regime (if any), and of course, them getting dressed. The last one in particular was worthy of close observation. Perhaps because she enjoyed the knowledge that she had been the cause of his undress in the first place, perhaps because she enjoyed the knowledge that she'd rip those clothes off later that night. Either way, she was a shameless voyeur.

But there was something decidedly different about watching Rigsby get dressed on Monday morning. After their shower, they came back to her bedroom to suit up for work. She pointedly sat on her bed in her towel and made no move to dress as he started rummaging through his bag for boxers and socks. He turned back to her and cocked his head at her.

"Plan on going into work like that?" he asked teasingly as he tossed his towel aside. He stood naked for a moment and smilingly watched her watching him.

She shook her head. "I'll get dressed in a minute. But first I have to see this."

Rigsby chuckled. "There isn't much here you haven't seen."

She smiled. "Well, _that _will never get old. But what I meant was that I want to watch you get dressed."

He looked intrigued. "Okay. Why?"

"Because." She shrugged and looked a little embarrassed. "It's just kinda…erotic, I guess."

His voice dropped an octave and went decidedly rougher. "Erotic."

She searched for a better explanation. "Yes. It's like, I've seen you in the most private way possible now, and now I get to watch you turn back into Agent Rigsby, the man I work with and have a secret crush on. It's almost like there are two of you."

"Two of me," he processed what she meant as he slowly pulled his boxers up his legs and settled them on his hips. She thought he'd question it further, but instead he wordlessly began to dress. She could tell he was doing it much slower than he normally would. For her benefit, no doubt. He reached down and pulled a white tee shirt from his bag and, with his back to her, pulled it over his arms and head before smoothing it down his torso. She watched his back muscles as they stood out in sharp relief, rippling under his skin before the fabric cruelly covered them up. Still turned away, he reached over to grab his dress shirt hanging from the doorknob and pulled it over each arm before shouldering into it and settling it evenly on his chest. When he turned to face her, his head dropped down to supervise his fingers as they started with the bottom button and worked their way up. Next came his slacks. He stepped into them and pulled them up his legs, tucking his shirts into the band before zipping up. He grabbed his belt from his bag and looped it through, stopping at the sides so he could attach his gun holster and badge before he slid the buckle into place. He didn't look up at her once.

Grace was enthralled. It was like watching a real-life documentary on Clark Kent, the crime-fighting superhero as he put on his everyday suit over his steel body to blend in with the masses. Except this hero's costume _was _his suit, not his disguise. The man beneath it was flesh and blood. Strong, but vulnerable. A warrior. Adorning himself with 21st Century armor. Outside in the parking lot was his noble steed.

He finally reached out and pulled his tie from his coat hanger. As he slipped it around his neck, Grace stood up and walked over to him. His hands paused as hers covered them, the tie ends pressed underneath.

"Let me," she whispered.

He still didn't speak, his expression soft. He lifted his hands away and she gently took the tie ends in her hands. She measured them out on either side before crossing and looping them. Her loose hair danced on her shoulders and arms as she worked. Rigsby was oblivious to her progress, he could only watch her and marvel at her many abilities and how surprising he found each one. He looked down and noticed that her movements were slowly loosening the towel wrapped around her body. He slowly reached out and tugged at it gently. It fell to the floor without a fight. Grace started and looked up at him in surprise. Suddenly, Rigsby understood exactly what she meant when she said she wanted to watch him transform. Just as she deftly slid the knot into place at his throat, he'd stripped her completely. Naked Grace. Agent Rigsby. Suddenly their private and work relationships stood out in visual contrast.

And he found it incredibly erotic.

He ran his hands gently over her waist, traveling slowly up her sides until he cupped her bare breasts. Grace gasped softly. She felt it too. Something about him being fully clothed and fully armed while she stood naked and exposed struck a deep primal urge that stabbed deep inside her. As he molded her breasts in his hands, she suddenly felt so womanly. So desirable. She arched into his hands and mewled softly.

"You just had to be this sexy, didn't you?" The gravel in his voice betrayed his lust. He dipped his head low and tongued her nipple. She moaned and leaned back into the support of his arms.

"You just had to watch me get dressed, only to make me hard and rip it all off again." He moved his mouth to her other breast, sucking that nipple with a bit more ferocity and rolling it gently between his teeth.

A surge of wetness coursed between her legs. His voice, so full of need, was also laced with the smallest trace of anger. Anger at her for making him lose control. Anger at himself for needing her so badly. And anger that he wasn't really angry at all. And that she turned her on so much that her hips bucked against his pants.

"Keep talking like that," she whispered.

He growled and sucked her harder. One of his hands left her waist and moved between her thighs. She groaned with relief and rubbed herself against his fingers, desperate to relieve the throb he had so evilly ignited in her. Damn him. She'd only wanted to watch him dress out of honest curiosity. He wasn't supposed to seduce her. He wasn't supposed to stand there, all imposing and masculine, and make her want to bend over and beg him to fuck her as hard and as fast as he could. This was _his _fault, not hers. How dare he blame her? Well, she'd show him what was what.

She pulled his other hand from her back. She looked him straight in the eye as she brought his index finger to her lips and sucked it into her mouth, still rubbing her wet pussy hard against his fingers. She swirled her tongue around his finger, dragging her soft inner cheeks and lips against it and sucking as hard as she could.

"Fuck!" he swore loudly. His fingers pressed harder against her clit and she moaned around his finger. Her hips moved faster, her legs grew weaker. But her indignation was still growing. Her hands found his crotch and cupped him roughly, massaging him too quickly and erratically. He hissed and shoved himself hard against her hand.

"You wanna play with me? Is that it?" Grace's eyes fluttered at the menace in his question. She wanted to play with him, all right. She opened his fly and reached in, using the same rough technique through one less layer of clothing. He began to thrust rhythmically into her palm.

"You want it rough, Grace? Is that what you want? Does my sweet angel want me to fuck her so hard that she screams?"

She moaned louder, pulling his finger as deep as it would go, spurring him on. They stared each other down as they continued to handle each other forcefully. Rigsby's fingers glistened with the evidence of her excitement. Grace's hands were wrapped around the evidence of his. She let his finger go with a pop and moaned breathily.

"The mirror. I want to see."

Rigsby knew instantly what she meant. Her sliding closet doors were paned completely with two mirrors.

He pushed her to the front of her closet door and loomed behind her. Their eyes riveted to the reflection in front of them as his hands moved roughly over her body.

"You see this?" he growled in her ear. He stroked her breasts, her hips, her thighs. She was captivated.

He turned them to the side, facing each other and both clearly visible in the mirror. Still watching them, Rigsby reached for his belt, unbuckling it before quickly unzipping his fly. He shoved his pants and boxers around his hips, his erection standing away from his body.

He grabbed her hand and pressed it against his cock. "You feel what you do to me? Every single second since I met you?" He wrapped his fingers around hers and pumped him madly. Grace keened and leaned into him for support as they worked him together. His other hand cupped her jaw and forced her eyes to his.

"I want nothing more than to bend you over and punish you for making me want you so much." Her eyes grew heavy and her knees grew weak. She tried to sink to her knees so she could work on punishing him instead, but he held her up against him.

"Oh, no you don't." He wasn't about to let her get the upper hand. Instead, he released her hand on his. "Since I can't take you from behind…" he gestured to their height difference. "…I'll take you from the front."

Rigsby grabbed the back of her thighs and yanked upwards. Grace gave a startled cry as her legs instinctively went around his waist. He readjusted quickly, hooking his elbows under her knees and locking his hands on her lower back. Grace gasped as her thighs were pulled taut against his abdomen. Their hips lined up flawlessly. He captured her lips with his and kissed her savagely before releasing her and growling softly.

"Put me inside you. Now."

Grace nodded, giving up all pretense of anger. She reached down, grasped him firmly, and guided him into her body. Grace moaned and Rigsby gave a rough, throaty snarl. With her thighs secured to his stomach, the angle let him go amazingly deep. He fought to stay upright as Grace clenched her inner muscles around him, adjusting to him once again.

He lifted her up and brought her down on him hard, impaling her on his cock before lifting her and slamming her down again. "_Yes_!" she hissed loudly.

His hands were locked behind her, so he used his words to roughly caress her.

Lifting and dropping her rhythmically, he turned his head towards the mirror. "Look at us."

Grace turned her head and rested her cheek against his, watching him as he held her up and pistoned in and out of her. She moaned at the sight, a naked girl getting thoroughly fucked by fully clothed man. His pants were barely open, you could see nothing of him. But she was bare to the world in the most vulnerable position imaginable. She was shocked by how sexy she found the scene before her.

Rigsby was no less captivated. He watched with wide eyes as he pumped wildly into her. When he spoke, he spoke to the mirror.

"I've imagined this a thousand times," he murmured, all of the frustration gone from his voice, replaced by wonder and awe. "Everyday at work, just like this. Every single inch of you, open to me. Wanting me. God, _Grace_!" he broke off and moaned as electricity bolted through his body. She was so wet. Her juices were trickling down his balls.

And she wasn't helping. Her arms gripped his neck and she was making all kinds of breathy, sobbing noises that drove him crazy and made him lift and drop her with more ferocity. He turned to their reflection again, roaring at the sight.

"Please, more."

Grace couldn't hear herself. She was crying out, keening, whispering to him as he battered her body with crushing waves of pleasure. Maybe it was the helplessness of her position that made her so hot. Maybe his words. Maybe everything. But as her climax came rushing at her with blinding speed, she knew that getting fucked by Wayne Rigsby was her one life-defining moment. She went rigid in his arms.

"_WAAAAAAYNE_!"

A lion's roar answered her as Rigsby stiffened, timing it so that he dropped Grace onto him just as he came deep and hard in her womb.

"_Fucking love you_!"

He almost fell forward and crushed them both as his climax struck him with torrential force, taking with it all of his strength, but by some miracle he managed to stay upright long enough to sink to the floor, Grace sobbing and trembling in his arms. His head fell against hers as they fought for air. His clothes felt too hot and stifling, but not enough to make him move. Instead, he pull his arms from under her knees and banded them around her back and shoulders, tracing them with the rough pads of his fingers.

"You own me, baby," he murmured into her hair, not really hearing himself.

Grace giggled softly as she lifted herself up. He tightened his grip and grunted his disapproval, but she pulled his arms from her and stood up. "I don't want to mess up your pants, sweetie."

"Fuck my pants."

She giggled harder and shook her head. "Sorry. We can't be late and you don't have any clothes here yet, so no cuddling in your lap. Get up, mister."

He growled softly as he stood up, but his heart thumped hard in his chest at the word 'yet'. He didn't have any clothes here _yet_. Sweet Christ, this was really going to happen. He and Grace were romantically involved and with that came all the relationship swag he'd only dared to dream about. A space in their closets for each other. His and her side of the bed. Odd socks and underwear turning up in each other's laundry. Movie night. Cooking together. Watching tv on the couch. Hell, even corny romantic walks on the beach. They weren't sad little fantasies in his head anymore. They were eventualities. _Fuck, yeah._

He smiled softly as he cleaned himself up with a tissue and readjusted his clothes. She was right, they needed to get going if they were going to talk to Jane first thing. Grace dressed with surprising speed and grabbed her makeup bag from the bathroom.

"I'll do this in the car," she explained.

He smirked at her. "Girly girl."

She blushed and poked his chest. "Shut up, am not."

He grabbed her finger and poked her back in the ribs. "Are too."

She flinched at the tickle. "Am not!"

He pulled her into a bear hug and laughed. "You're so fun to rile up."

She smiled despite herself. She relaxed and hugged him back before speaking again. After a few moments, he pulled away. "Okay, really time to go now."

She nodded. As he pulled away, she reached out and grabbed his hand. "Wayne?"

He turned back. She looked down at his fingers as she stroked them. She whispered softly to them. "Me too."

"You too, what?"

"You," she looked up at him. "You own me too."

His eyes melted and he brought her hand to his lips, kissing it lightly. "You…you make me so happy, baby. I don't deserve you."

She punched him softly. "You stole my line again, buster."

They grinned at each other before pulling away and grabbing their stuff on the way out. They were going to have to step on it now.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

They found him all sphinxish and haughty in his usual morning spot, in the kitchen making tea. They had taken the precaution of entering the building separately, but now they approached Jane together as he lazily dipped his tea bag in his cup.

Rigsby spoke first. "Jane? We want to ask you a question."

He didn't turn around from the counter. "You went out on Friday, got drunk, had crazy monkey sex and have decided that you're made for each other. Now you need advice on how to break it to Lisbon. Am I warm?"

They both flinched. All his arrows hit their mark with dizzying accuracy and stung just as badly. "Jesus, Jane. You make it sound so sleazy. And we weren't _that_ drunk."

With that, he turned and smiled kindly. "Ah, l'amour."

Grace tapped her foot and whispered hotly. "Look, just shut up and help us."

"Was I right?"

She squinted. "About what?"

"Rigsby being an excellent lover?"

"You knew he would be."

Jane shrugged as he sat at the kitchenette. "Doesn't mean I don't like vindication."

"Fine. He's unbelievable. Incredible. Magnificent. Insatiable. Happy?"

Rigsby looked at Grace with embarrassed pride. "Really? You think I'm magnificent?"

Grace shot him stern glare and he lowered his head to hide his grin. Jane laughed and slapped his knee lightly. "Excellent. So, sexy synonyms aside, what's your plan?"

Grace and Rigsby sat down with him, keeping their voices as low as possible. "Well," Grace said. "We don't want to lie to the boss, but we don't want to leave either. We thought you might know how best to handle this."

"Liars." There was no accusation in the statement.

Grace bristled. "We're not lying, Jane. We really don't want to go. And Lisbon _does _listen to you."

He chuckled. "That, dear Grace, is only one aspect. The truth is that you both knew I'd deduce your relationship the minute you walked in the door. Now you're cutting me off at the pass to make sure I don't say anything damaging to our dear lady leader. True?"

Rigsby grimaced. "Okay, yeah. That too. You can't blame us, can you? I mean, we figured we'd try and get you on our side first. You've been hassling me to ask Grace out for months. The least you can do is back me up."

"What?" Grace looked startled as she swung a glance between them.

Jane sipped his tea. "It doesn't matter. So, you want me to waltz in there and inform Lisbon that you're sleeping together, but that it won't compromise your work despite the inevitable emotional strain that comes with police work, and you don't feel the CBI rules should apply to you. Does that sum it up?"

Grace and Rigsby looked at each other. Okay, yeah. It sounded bad when you put it like that. Rigsby cleared his throat. "Yes."

Jane set his cup down, his eyes twinkling merrily. "I accept."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"_Come on_, Lisbon. You knew this was inevitable. Why make a big deal about it? Just let them date discreetly. No one outside the unit need ever know."

Jane stood relaxed and playful in the middle of Lisbon's office as the petite brunette glared daggers at him. His news was most unwelcome, and his defense of it was acutely irritating.

"Rules are rules, Jane."

"I break them all the time, you don't throw _me _out."

Her hands made a choking motion as she spoke. "You're not an agent, I don't hold you to the same standard as I do the rest of my team. And the day is young, I may throw you out yet."

Jane waved a dismissive hand as if the idea of him getting booted was ridiculous. "Look, we both know you're just going through the indignant motions here. You'll wax angry and bossy for a few hours, capitulate and finally acquiesce. Why don't we just skip to that part? Rigsby and Van Pelt are perfect for each other. They're both professionals, they'll ensure their work doesn't suffer. You know this better than anyone, so why threaten them with expulsion?"

"Why are you talking about it like I'm an overprotective mom, Jane? I didn't write the CBI protocol, nor do I get to cherry pick which rules I follow and which ones I write off as polite suggestions. Team members who become romantically involved become liabilities to the rest of us. They can't be trusted to make rational decisions."

"Hogwash."

"Reality. If Rigsby had a choice to send Cho or Van Pelt into a shootout, who do you think he'd choose?"

"Either would be an acceptable choice. And Cho has more experience. Sending Cho would make as much sense if not more. Next hypothetical?"

"You're missing the point. He'd protect Van Pelt, no matter what."

"He does that anyway and you've yet to reprimand him. And you're not giving Van Pelt her due. You think she'd allow herself to be sidelined by her boyfriend? She's not here on a cheerleading scholarship. She's here to work. I'm not hearing any serious problems here, Teresa."

Lisbon threw up her hands in exasperation.

Jane's demeanor softened. "They love each other, Lisbon. Real, honest-to-God love. How often to people get that chance?"

"They can have it, Jane, but one of them has to leave. I'm not stopping their relationship, I'm just protecting the integrity of my team."

"Come on. Just talk to them about it and give them a chance. Make it clear that you won't tolerate preferential treatment in the field or smooching in the office. Be big and bad and scary, but let them stay. They both love you dearly. It would kill either one of them to leave."

Lisbon sighed and buried her face in her hands. "And why exactly are you in front of me instead of them?"

Jane smiled and shrugged. "They felt it wise to employ a consigliere. They fear and revere you on a normal day, never mind on a day when they've broken the rules. No doubt they felt they wouldn't be able to verbalize or defend their situation as well as I can. Plus," he gave her a flirty wink. "They know you can't say no to me."

"God, save me from these people." She groaned into her hands. At last she looked up to him and he knew with absolutely certainty. He'd won.

"Send them in here, Jane."

"Right away, ma'am."

"Shut up with ma'am business and just do it."

Jane went in search of the lovebirds.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

"No strolling in together."

"Yes, boss."

"No PDAs or other inappropriate behavior during work hours."

"Yes, boss."

"No moony eyes across the bullpen."

"No, ma'am."

"Absolutely no one outside of the team finds out."

"We promise."

"No couple-y lunches or making out when you think no one's looking."

"Absolutely not."

"Not one single act of over-protectiveness in dangerous situations."

"Okay."

"Leave every night in separate cars, no matter what."

"Will do."

"I want you two behaving so indifferently that I forget you're even together. Got it?"

"Got it, ma'am."

Lisbon exhaled slowly and tried to think of more no-no's as Van Pelt and Rigsby sat contritely in front of her desk. Their heads were lowered in submission, their eyes moving between her and the floor. They never once looked at each other. They sat frozen in their chairs like kids in the principal's office. Lisbon regarded them closely as she sat back in her chair. When she was eleven years old, a boy named Tim Reilly had been teasing her across the playground, yelling to everyone about her ugly pigtails. She'd been so angry that she picked up a rock the size of a marble and threw it at him. He'd been thirty feet away, she'd never expected to hit him. That was one thing she learned about herself as she grew older; she had fantastic aim. She hit Timmy right between the eyes. _Bam_! That kid went down like a sack of potatoes, clutching his bleeding face and screaming like a banshee. Looking at her agents now, she suddenly remembered that incident and how she'd behaved when called to the office. Terrified, contrite and woefully sorry…sorry that she'd been caught.

She smirked despite herself.

Her agents hadn't been caught, but they knew they would have been on borrowed time if they'd attempted to hide their relationship. She applauded them for biting the bullet, at the very least. She never would have about the rock.

At last, she let her face soften. "Guys?"

They both looked up.

She gave them a tiny, disputable smile. "I'm happy for you."

They gave her two hesitant, relieved smiles in return.

Her face went stony again. No getting mushy here. "Now get out. I'll inform Cho about this. And if you mess this up in _any _way, I'll personally hand your asses to you."

"Yes, boss," they replied in unison as the hastily stood up and ran for the door.

When it clicked shut behind them, Lisbon finally allowed herself to smile. "Good luck, you crazy kids."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Monday 6:47PM_

They left in separate cars, as per instructed.

They'd spent the rest of the day with their eyes surgically glued to their desks. Even Jane gave them a break, keeping his teasing to a minimum. Lisbon had called him and Cho into her office and made it official. Rigsby and Van Pelt are dating, now let us never speak of it again. Jane smiled at her and Cho grunted with total and utter disinterest. There. Everyone was up to speed and they could go about their jobs like the rest of the building. Rigsby and Grace kept their meek postures for the rest of the day, secretly elated but determined to show Lisbon they could follow orders. The end of the day brought their ability to talk to each other, but first they had to get home.

Rigsby sent an email to her as he was leaving, never looking over once.

_My turn. W_

Grace smirked and deleted the message immediately, then went into her deleted folder and erased it permanently from her account. Anyone looking for proof of their relationship wouldn't find it with her. No siree. The screen recycled and the little envelope disappeared forever. It's not like she'd need to reread it or anything. Despite its vagueness, she'd understood. His turn, meaning his place. They'd spent all weekend at her house, now he wanted her in his.

He got up and left without a backwards glance. Grace felt her heart skip watching him leave, his broad back and thick arms undulating with his gait. She immediately imagined him as a shark, all muscle and power, his size and strength allowing him to move slowly. Fluidly. The other people in the office unconsciously parted for him as he sauntered to the elevator. Tuna knew when to move out of the way.

Grace made herself sit in her seat and finish her report for Lisbon. It wasn't urgent, she could have easily finished and submitted it the next day, but she wanted Lisbon to know. She was there to work, dammit. Twenty-three minutes after Rigsby had left, Grace shut everything down, left the building, got in her car, and drove. She was mighty pleased with herself. She didn't run once.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rigsby's apartment was dark when she walked up to the door. She cocked her head and raised her hand hesitantly to knock. Had she misunderstood after all? But her hand never made contact with the door, as it opened suddenly and another hand shot out and grabbed hers, dragging her inside. She yelped and laughed as Rigsby slammed the door behind her, cupped her head and pulled her in for a deep kiss.

She broke away, still laughing. "Hey! No kissing."

He beamed at her and trapped her in his arms. "No moony eyes."

"No PDAs." She grabbed his ass and pulled him tightly against her.

"Hey! No inappropriate behavior." He tsked her as his hands slid up to palm her breasts.

Grace hummed and pushed into his touch. "No over-protectiveness."

Rigsby sighed as his hands slid lower. "Damn. What _are_ we allowed to do?"

"Well," Grace smirked. "She didn't say I couldn't follow you home and rip your clothes off."

She pushed him back, following him as he stepped backwards down his hallway. His eyes raised up as he thought back to their meeting. "You're right, I don't recall that being on the list."

Her hands were already pulling his tie loose. She threw it on the floor as they continued to walk, starting on his shirt buttons next. Grace didn't glance up as she said, "She also didn't forbid me from licking every inch of you," she paused and looked at him flirtingly. "Just as long as I don't kiss you."

Rigsby groaned softly. "Bad girl," he murmured, his hands on her hips. His back met his bedroom door. He gave it a swift mule kick and it flew open. She pulled his shirt off him and tugged impatiently at his tee shirt. "_Good_ girl," she corrected as he pulled his shirt over his head. She instantly swooped in and licked across his chest. He moaned and began to roughly paw at her clothes, too impatient to look for buttons and zippers. She moved her mouth lower, following the slight indentation from his sternum to his navel. She reached for his belt, unbuckling it and pushing it open before she opened his fly. Her tongue dipped into his bellybutton as she pushed his pants open.

"Grace, no," he bit out, wanting her to stop so he could undress her, but powerless to do anything but gently stroke her hair as she lit his body on fire.

She gave him a look that told him he was in trouble, as she pushed his boxers down, his erection spilling into her waiting hand. "No, Wayne? No what?"

She gripped him hard and slowly pumped him, her warm hand sliding up and down as she waited for his answer.

He groaned loudly. "No, let me…I want…"

She gripped him harder. His words turned into a gasping noise of pleasure. She continued to pump him as she came forward and licked the tip. Whatever objections he had were lost in a stream of yes's and cursing. Grace smiled with satisfaction before she moved her hands to his hips and slid him firmly into her mouth. _Yes!_

Oh God, she loved his taste. She loved how her mouth barely fit around him. She loved the sounds that poured out of him as she slowly pulled him in and out, swirling her tongue over every inch. She loved him. So much. And now he was hers. Completely. No hiding required, just discretion. They got to keep their jobs and each other. Her inner muscles clamped down hard at the thought as she continued to work him. _I get to keep him. _She sucked him in as far as he would go.

"Grace, please…let me…oh, god…let me touch you…I need you…Please?...ah, Jesus…"

She released him and stood up. He wasted no time. He yanked her shirt up and off before pulling her against him and kissing her deeply. His tongue slid into her mouth and dueled with hers. The little moan she gave him had him ripping at her pants. She helped him get them open, down and off her legs, taking his off as well while she bent down. Clad in her bra and panties, Grace threw herself against the naked man in front of her, peppering his face and chest with kisses.

"I can't believe it," she murmured between kisses. "I can keep you."

He stilled under her lips.

Rigsby cupped her shoulders and pushed her back from him gently. The tenderness in his expression nearly killed her. She moved to hold him again, but he held her away. He opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated and closed it again. She made herself calm down and gently ran her nails over his arms. They had time, after all.

"What is it, Wayne?" She gave him an encouraging smile.

His eyes were kaleidoscopes of emotion. When he spoke, his voice came out in a whisper.

"You want to keep me."

It was a statement, yet Grace sensed a question. She continued to smile. "If you'll have me," she answered.

Rigsby gave a disbelieving huff. "If _I'll _have _you_? If I…?" He cut himself off and lowered his head, trying to find the words. Grace pushed passed his arms and moved into his chest. She brought her arms around his back and hugged him.

"Tell me what you're thinking, baby. Wasn't this our plan? Lisbon allowed us to be together, and here we are." She reached up and raked her fingers through his hair, knowing how much he liked it. "What's going on in there?"

His eyes closed as sparks ran through his scalp nerves, her nails leaving tingles in their wake. He was trying so hard not to kill the mood, but he had to know.

"You really want to be with me? It wasn't just…a crazy Friday night and an amazing weekend?"

Grace's eyes went round. Her hand stilled in his hair. Rigsby saw and felt her surprise, but his eyes stayed on her, silently asking again.

Grace was silent for a long time, returning his gaze. At first, she simply couldn't believe it. After the soul-bearing intimacy they'd shared, he had to ask? Did he honestly think she was that type of girl? The kind who risked friendships with casual sex? The kind who fucked lovesick men and broke their hearts? The kind who risked her job, only to tell him it was fun but she didn't want anything serious?

The kind who said I love you…and didn't mean it?

She framed his face in her hands and studied him closely. His gaze never flinched.

No. Those thoughts were instantly dismissed. Wayne simply wasn't capable of thinking them. So that left him. And his fear. Looking into his sweet, honest face, Grace knew that he suffered from a case of good old-fashioned fear. He loved her. He'd had her. And now that the green light had been given, he was terrified that it was too good to be true. Maybe she had suffered from a 48-hour love flu. Maybe she was all better now, didn't need him anymore, but hey, thanks for a great coupla days. Or maybe she was a thrill-seeker, only wanting forbidden fruit. Now the fruit was readily available and it suddenly it lost its appeal.

He was terrified she may not want him anymore.

Grace slipped her arms around his neck and hugged him. His skin was warm, his body unyielding. Her softer curves molded to his hard planes. A perfect fit. Surely he felt it too? She placed a small kiss on his chest. If he hadn't melted her heart long ago, he would have broken it.

She took his hand and led him to his bed. Wordlessly, she indicated that he lay down. He did so without question, settling on his back, his eyes never leaving hers. As she gazed over his naked body, her heart swelling as she caressed every inch with her eyes, she had an idea. She crawled onto the bed. She placed a single finger against his lips. _Shhhhh_, she told him silently. He nodded mutely, kissing her finger. She slid on top of him, her body lining up with his: stomach to stomach, hips to hips, legs to legs. She levered up on her arms, looking down at him with infinite love in her eyes.

"The first time I saw you," she leaned down to his throat, planting a small kiss under his ear. "I knew I was in trouble." She felt him inhale underneath her. The lift of his body buoyed her up and she hummed softly in her throat. She moved her lips an inch lower, savoring the scratch of his stubble, before planting another kiss.

"You held out your hand and told me your name. Remember? Your hand swallowed mine. Your voice was rough and quiet. Your eyes…" Grace paused as she moved down another inch, pressing her lips against his collarbone. "…your eyes told me you were the kindest man I'd ever met." Rigsby's hands came up to cup her cheeks. She caught them in her own and shook her head.

"No. Tonight is mine. You've shown me that you love me in a million ways." She smiled as she placed his hands back at his side. "It's my turn." His hands returned to his side without a struggle. His eyes remained wide. Intent. He was listening. She nodded before continuing.

"That's what got to me, Wayne." She swirled her tongue in the notch at the base of his throat. She heard and felt him groan softly. She smiled against his skin. "You're so unbelievably kind. You don't have to be. Most men who look like you aren't. I know…" She cut her sentence off, inhaled sharply and closed her eyes against her own memories. No, not yet. She couldn't tell him about that now. One day, soon, she'd finally break down and tell another living soul about that night. The ripped clothes, the cries for help, the crushing weight, the fury, the wet spot on her car seat when she drove home, the thousand scalding showers.

She would tell. But tonight was about him. She pressed into him.

"I could have resisted anything but kindness. Some days, I even found myself wishing you were a sleazy bastard. It would have been so much easier."

His chest rumbled with his chuckle. She levered up on her hands again while sliding her knees between his legs. As she pulled up slightly from him, her hair spilled like waterfalls on either side of his ribcage. The lace of her bra scraped deliciously over his chest. She watched his pupils dilate with desire. She was positive he saw the same in hers.

Her kisses slowly trailed to his nipple. She licked and sucked it lightly. He moaned louder his time and she felt his cock jump against her stomach.

"You made me love you," she whispered against him. "You _made_ me." She moved to his other nipple, her tongue worshipping every inch of skin along the way.

He was getting restless. His breathing was getting shallow and fast. His arms, still at his side, roved and clutched at the comforter, wanting to touch her so badly but obeying her command to stay put. His chest was pushing up into hers, demanding more kisses, more licks, more pressure. More. He made a noise of frustration in his throat. She giggled and slid even lower, kissing the line between his ribs. She felt the tip of his erection slide between her breasts. She reared up to her knees quickly, unhooking her bra and throwing it aside. He hissed her name and reached for her, only to be met by her hands pushing his arms down again. Restraining his hands with hers, she slithered along his body, sliding his erection between her bare breasts. The creamy swells massaged him as she moved up and down on his hips.

"Grace," he rasped hoarsely. "Oh Christ, baby. I need you so much. Please lemme touch you."

She continued to move up and down, releasing his hands and palming her own breasts to trap him more snugly between them. He threw his head back and swore loudly, his entire body thrumming with tense need.

"See that?" she whispered to him as she moved. "You're so strong, baby. But you respect my request. You restrain yourself. For me." She dropped her head and licked his tip as it emerged from her cleavage. His hips jolted off the bed and he gave a ragged gasp before falling back.

Grace could feel her own need building quickly. She didn't want it to, she wanted to focus on him, to give him what he'd given her for the last nine months. Adoration. Respect. Lust. Admiration. Worship. Devotion. Total, absolute love. He needed to understand that he wasn't alone in this. He needed to know that Lisbon's approval had been the most exhilarating words she'd ever heard, next to his declarations of love. He _needed_ to know…she was his.

"I love you, baby." She lifted up, stripping out of her panties before she straddled his hips. "I need you." She reared up on her knees and positioned herself over him, pausing to look him dead in the eye. "You are everything." She sank down on him.

They moaned together as she took all of him. His hands betrayed her command and encircled her waist, holding her to him as he thrust deeply from below. Grace's head dropped back and she cried out as he stretched her wide. "I'm yours," she sobbed quietly.

She rode him in earnest, her pace increasing with each eager push of her hips. "Yours," she repeated over and over.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Yours."

The word echoed in Rigsby's ears as his body was enveloped and adored by the woman above him.

She pinned him with her hands, grinding herself into him and crying out with each of his thrusts. Her long hair spilled over her shoulders and breasts. Her eyes fluttered and her mouth rounded beautifully with each gasp. She rotated her hips firmly against his, forcing a groan from him and making his entire being jerk upwards and in.

"Tell me," she whimpered. "Tell me what you thought about…when I kissed your hand on Friday."

Rigsby moaned loudly as she clenched him, trying to squeeze honesty right out of him. Like he could ever lie to her. His answer came in a choked gasp. "I imagined you kissing me everywhere."

Grace pitched forward, lifting herself off of him almost completely. She pulled up until just his tip was inside her. Rigsby groaned in frustration and tried to thrust upward, but Grace hooked her feet over his thighs, restricting his movement. Her hips moved in little circles over him, dipping softly over that one inch. He made another sound of impatience, his hands sliding desperately over her body, willing her to take him again.

"Tell me more."

Her eyes searched his. He sighed and acquiesced. "You shocked me with that kiss. I knew you didn't mean anything by it, but it floored me. Your lips," He glanced down at them, running his thumb over their plumpness. "I've wanted them for so long. And suddenly they were touching me, so soft and warm. I wanted them all over me. Every inch. That's what I thought about when you kissed my hand on Friday."

She lowered herself onto him and he grunted with gratitude. She watched his eyes roll back as she removed her feet and let him move his thrusts in time with hers. She felt her breasts brush rhythmically against his chest and little bolts of electricity shot through her with each pass over her sensitive nipples. She crushed her lips to his chest and smothered a moan against him.

She gasped as he flipped their positions and suddenly she was underneath him, his hips driving powerfully between hers and his thick arms locked on either side of her. He kept his pace steady, but his thrusts hard. She murmured her approval, crossing her ankles across his lower back.

"You love me," he growled, not breaking stride.

"Yes."

"You need me," another growl.

She nodded frantically. She felt her climax building under his onslaught. "Yes."

"You're mine." His voice was still low and rough, but she heard less conviction in his statement.

She arched up into him, gripping him with everything she had as his plunges became less measured. More forceful. She gasped when he hit her G spot. "Yours. Completely. I…oh God…belong to…you. Just you." She cried out when he hit it again. She strained wildly beneath him, bucking and pushing hard against him. She felt her orgasm rolling towards her like a runaway train. "_You_ do this to me."

And suddenly she was suspended in midair, an eternal second, before her body exploded into a thousand pieces, her release crashing into her. She convulsed hard, her arms clutching his shoulders desperately as she sobbed her way through her climax. Her nails scratched new marks over the older ones, his back quickly becoming a scored testament to his attentiveness as a lover. Rigsby hissed and gasped as Grace's body demanded his with such ferociousness. It was breathtaking to be so…needed. He continued to stroke through her climax to prolong her pleasure, moving as much as he could in her constricting body and trying desperately to ward off his own release. He didn't want to come. Not yet. He wanted Grace to see him, to feel him, when he finally let go. He wanted her to see what _she_ did to _him_. So he watched her as she slowly came down from her high, her moans becoming softer, her eyes slowly opening.

"Wayne?" she questioned softly, nudging him between her legs, urging him to join her in her sated bliss.

He continued to move, their gaze never breaking. Until Grace, Rigsby would never have drawn attention to himself like this. He'd never been an exhibitionist. Quite the opposite, in fact. He felt embarrassed if his movements become forceful or his groans turned into screams. He felt exposed. He worried that his passion, when fully unleashed, would scare the hell out of the poor woman in his arms. True, it rarely reached that level of intensity. Before Grace, he hadn't even known its limits.

He did now.

Grace pushed him to that limit. What he would have thought brutal with past lovers, was the only acceptable response with Grace. He lost control every time. She wanted him to lose control every time. Her body could take it. Her cries demanded it. His own needs screamed for it. And so he gave it. They gave it together.

And now, as the last thread of his control slipped from his grasp, he knew she was watching.

He rammed deeply inside of her, roaring so loudly that Grace gasped at the decibel level. He emptied himself, not only his body, but his fear, his inhibitions, his insecurities. And with them poured out the purest, more perfect syllable he'd ever heard in his life.

"GRAAAAAAACE!"

He propelled himself again and again, giving every last drop of himself to her. Shuddering, groaning, murmuring dazedly. He collapsed on top of her, taking none of his own weight. Grace moaned her consent, wrapping her limbs tightly around him, sculpting her body around his. Her own breathing had quieted, so she focused completely on listening to his. The gasping, desperate satisfaction of his. She clutched him closer, overcome by him: his weight, his size, the capacity of his lungs as they drew breath, his glorious, beautiful loss of control. She murmured her pleasure that he'd felt secure enough to let her experience him this way. This was Wayne in his purest, most unvarnished form. She nuzzled his ear.

"I _see _you," she whispered. "You overwhelm me."

He lifted his head and stared at her, his body still shaking, his brow damp with sweat. His hands slipped into her hair and cupped her head gently. "I can keep you." He repeated her words.

She giggled. "It looks like we get to keep each other."

At last, she saw him push past his awe and his fear and Wayne came back to her, just like after she'd whispered 'I love you' for the first time. He shook his head slowly and chuckled.

"So," he croaked and cleared his throat. "You think you'll be able to keep your hands off me at work?"

She snorted. "Puh-lease. Like I'm the one with impulse control issues. You're the one who'll have to watch the hands, buddy."

He huffed, lifting off of her and locking his arms next to her head. "I'm sorry, who attacked whom in that restaurant?"

"Ha! Who can't even see a little red dress without forgetting half his college education?"

"Bah," he gruffed. "Yeah well, who can't fight back when I tickle her within an inch of her life?" And before she could retort or escape, he attacked. Grace shrieked and laughed as her boyfriend dove down and sunk his fingers into her ribs. She wrestled as best she could, but he was right. She simply wasn't strong enough. He pinned her down, laughing heartily as he used his body and better leverage to keep her from rolling away. Her skin was an expanse of unbearable pleasure under his assault. Her laughter was a musical, delightful drug that Rigsby planned to inject into his life every single day. They rolled around his bed, blissfully aware of two things.

He was happy. She way happy. The highly unlikely circumstances of distance and chance brought them together and created a stunningly simple reality; they were in love.

Just as she thought she'd pass out from lack of air as her screams left her breathless, Rigsby stopped his attack.

"Stay with me," he whispered suddenly. "Every night, every weekend, every vacation, okay? Promise you'll always be with me."

Still giggling, she reached up and pulled him down to her, cuddling him close. "Anything you want, remember?" She kissed his softly and reminded him.

"I'm yours."

* * *

Well, folks, this is the end. Thanks to all who reviewed and kept my little heart aflutter with your comments. Feel free to leave more, if the mood strikes. I may start a new story, we'll see. In the meantime, continue to petition CBS to start showing soft-core porn on the Mentalist. Screw the FCC.


End file.
